


Sonata in C MaJor

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Drama, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e09 Galileo, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-06-30
Updated: 2001-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 14:12:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 73,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14792027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: CJ disappears without a trace...





	1. Sonata in C MaJor

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Sonata in C MaJor**

**by: SheilaVR**

**Character(s):** CJ  
**Category(s):** General  
**Rating:** MATURE  
**Disclaimer:** Warmest thanks to Aaron Sorkin, Warner Bros., NBC, et al for graciously allowing us to expand upon their patented creation at no extra charge.  
**Summary:** CJ disappears without a trace...   
**Spoiler:** After "Galileo".  


*****

Sonata (n.): a work composed for a soloist accompanied by an orchestra

*****

**Phase I: Counterpoint**

Counterpoint (n.): an interweaving of melodies

When the first President of the United States selected a site for the new capital city of his fledgling republic, he did so with a military eye. The District of Columbia was firmly planted on high ground, with a plentiful water supply at hand, its layout carefully-planned and logical. (Back then, anyway.) It was also reasonably central among the original Thirteen States, accessible to all of its citizens as a seat of government should be.

An added advantage that General Washington probably did not anticipate at the time is the fact that his choice was far enough north to escape the hurricanes of summer, and far enough south to be spared the blizzards of winter... thus depriving civil servants of their favorite excuses to avoid coming in for work.

Well, most of the time. Every once in a while Mother Nature has to do something totally unexpected, just to drop-kick humanity back into its place.

On this Tuesday morning in early December, hurricanes were hardly the concern. The snow had been falling gently yet steadily for most of the night, and by dawn the whole world seemed veiled in white. The Capitol, the Lincoln Memorial and all other pale marble structures half-vanished behind this silent curtain of animate lace. The streets were dusted and re-dusted so persistently that driving had become far more than the usual downtown challenge, even though the sheer volume of traffic helped sweep streets at least partially clear before the plows even got there.

Seated at his desk, Leo McGarry glanced up and around at the snow drifting past the window behind him. The towering silver Monument, always prominent in his view, was gone � as though Paul Bunyan had uprooted it and carried it away. The White House might have been enveloped in a cloak of invisibility. He shook his head at the caprice of the elements, checked his watch, and returned to the paperwork spread before him.

Moments later, his secretary appeared in his doorway. "Leo, senior staff are here."

"Good for them," he muttered, not looking up.

Margaret hesitated, picked up on the unvoiced command, and retreated. Then the soft tramp of approaching feet heralded multiple visitors.

"Leo � " Josh Lyman spoke first, leading the way.

"If any of you sings or hums even one measure of a Christmas carol, I personally will see to it that you receive coal for your holiday bonus and nothing else." The Chief of Staff still did not raise his eyes, reading steadily away.

"Well, and a good day to you too, Mr. Scrooge," Sam Seaborn offered with feigned lightheartedness.

"The day's only just begun," Leo warned. "I've already been through this with Margaret and at least two others. I swear, the whole place gets positively giddy at the first snowfall." He spared them the briefest glance. "But at least you made it in. I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies. Now about that fishing bill � "

"Leo..." Toby Ziegler began.

Leo sighed. "Toby, I don't want to hear it. The union has been dragging its heels on this from day one. Now that we've finally cornered them into coming here this morning, let's not waste our time bickering. You're the biggest gun in my arsenal, and I'm not afraid to use you. Whatever it takes to knock some sense into them; you have my blessing." He turned the page of the report before him.

The Communications Director rolled his eyes. "Thanks. I think."

"Uh, Leo � " Sam attempted in turn.

"Don't worry, Sam, you're next on my list." Leo adjusted his glasses and made a note in the margin. "Offenhaus is coming around later this afternoon and your infuriating good humor is just what I need to keep him off-balance long enough to listen to me. CJ, you should be there too."

An uncomfortable silence descended, and stretched out. And out...

Leo stopped writing, and lifted his eyes only. For the first time, he actually _looked_ at the staff members lined up before him. Three men stood stiffly, hands in pockets. There was no sign of a tall, feminine Press Secretary.

"Where is she?"

"You finally noticed," Josh said with just a hint of a smirk.

"I've come to expect this from you guys, but not her." Leo glanced towards the door, as though he expected to see her poised there all along � but CJ Cregg was not waiting to be noticed or just walking in now to join them. "So what's the delay?"

"We don't know."

This time Leo removed his glasses and sat back, his frown shifting from intimidation to bafflement.

Sam got the idea that a bit more detail would be welcome. "She hasn't turned up for work yet."

Pause. "Did she say anything yesterday?"

Josh shook his head. "Zip _._ I already asked Carol: no appointments, no leave."

The Chief of Staff looked from one to the other to the other. And exhaled. "I don't need this right now." He rubbed his temple. "When was the _last_ time CJ was late?"

"My memory doesn't go back that far," Toby drawled.

Sam covered a yawn. "Some people would take issue on whether 7 AM is late."

Leo looked out the window at the still-cascading snow. "And how far away does she live?"

"Fifteen, twenty minutes," Josh told him. "Hey, maybe she skidded off the road. I saw lots of examples of that on my way in."

"You and me both." Leo sighed again, and dismissed it. "All right; when she _does_ get in, send her to me. I want her there for the Offenhaus thing."

"Right."

"Anything else that can't wait at least an hour?" No one spoke. "Good. We'll finish this later. Go on, do something constructive." On that curt dismissal Leo returned to his literature, in a moment too engrossed to even watch his subordinates leave.

The trio headed down the halls of the West Wing towards Communications. "Man, just when you're convinced that you can always count on something," Josh observed as he led the way. "CJ being on time, Leo being overworked, Toby being grumpy..."

Toby's eyes narrowed silently.

"She'll be delighted to know that one late morning has completely shattered your faith in the cosmos," Sam said with a snicker.

"Hell, I've been redefining the cosmos almost daily since we first got here. Goes with the territory."

"Tell me about it."

Cathy appeared at that moment, like a genie out of a bottle, and collared her boss. "Sam, you had a call from the Liaisons Office."

"Oh, what now? I thought we fixed that yesterday." Sam let his two marching buddies go on without him.

"It's still preferable to spending a half-hour of Trivial Pursuit with the President," Josh shouted encouragingly back at him. He started to peel off into his own trajectory � and stopped at the sight of one empty desk. "Where the hell's Donna?"

Almost everyone around turned his way, but none volunteered an answer.

"Someone find Donna and tell her to get her tail back here. She _knows_ I can't work without her bothering me!" Josh slouched off towards his office.

Toby did not spare a glance at any of them or reduce his own purposeful speed. "No one had better get between me and my phone," he announced brusquely to the office at large as he sailed through it.

Ginger, about to do just that, wisely stepped back. "It can wait."

"Damned right it can," he growled. "You are not on my list of people to destroy right now."

*****

"It'd be you."

"No, it wouldn't."

"Sure, it would."

"No, it _wouldn't_."

"It'd definitely be you."

  __

"No."

"Definitely."

Margaret shook her head in pure exasperation. "If it were _anyone_ , it's be Mrs. Landingham. But she's above all of this and would never participate in the first place." Leo's secretary did her best to re-focus on the papers spread across her desk, and to ignore her persistent visitor. "And neither will I."

Donna stood nearby, smiling with just a hint of smugness. "So you'd abdicate. That's fine, because then it would be _me_. Which would be great, since I'd be better at it than you anyway."

This time Margaret looked up. "I wouldn't abdicate."

"You just said you would."

"No, I didn't!"

Donna shrugged. "But I still think I'd be better than you."

Margaret sat right back and frowned. "What makes you think you'd be better than me? _I_ don't think you would be."

"Well, for one thing, I smile more." Donna suited actions to words.

"But you also have a nasty habit of standing around and keeping people from working." Margaret stared down at her currently-silent keyboard.

Donna deliberately ignored that. "In fact, I think it should be _all_ women."

"Then CJ would be higher than all of us."

Now Donna brightened visibly. "Yes, _CJ_ should be President! And from there, we can arrange everyone by height. Which would definitely put me above you. In fact, I'd be _Vice_ -President."

"This is utterly ridiculous." Margaret shook her head and returned to her typing.

Donna continued to dream alone. "So when CJ gets in, I'm gonna tell her that, as soon as she becomes President, _I'll_ be her second-in-command."

"So what about Carol?"

"Carol's a munchkin," Donna scoffed. "She'll be in the kitchen."

" _Fine._ You go tell her that."

"I will." Flashing that smile again, Donna left to revamp the hierarchy of the White House.

*****

Carol drummed her fingers on her desk, not so much impatient as concerned, while she waited for the other party to pick up the phone. At last she had to admit defeat, and replaced her receiver with a dispirited sigh.

Cathy was passing by at that moment, and paused in her travels. "Still no answer?"

"Maybe I shorted out the machine with all my messages, I don't know. But her phone is working, so at least we can't blame this on downed lines."

"Or maybe CJ got caught in traffic. Things were backed up halfway to Des Moines."

"I sure hope that's _all_ it is." Carol stared blankly at the swath of papers across her desk, uncertain just where to start. "You know, you never really appreciate how much work there is to do here until the person who does most of it isn't around."

Cathy rolled her eyes in pure empathy. "Tell me about it."

Carol gave vent to another sigh and started dialing out again. "I'm going to blow her pager too at this rate."

"Why doesn't she carry a cell phone like everyone else?"

Carol stopped just short of a derisive snort. "She does." And mimicked the all-too-familiar voice of a standard recording. "This cellular customer is currently out of range."

Cathy hid her smile. "Forget I asked."

*****

All White House staff learned very early in their employment the art of holding a conversation while walking briskly through congested hallways. Even though Sam was in the lead by a step or two, Josh had no trouble pursuing the subject currently under discussion.

"I have no doubt that she has a better excuse than your last one, Sam."

"Oh, like I would deliberately get a Mack truck to splash me just so that I could arrive an hour later than usual..."

"Hey, for all we know she might've had a date last night."

They entered the Communications bullpen and paused to continue this topic. "I spoke to Danny a few minutes ago," Sam went on. "He hasn't seen her since she left the White House around ten last night."

At that moment Toby arrived from the other direction, reports in hand � with perfect timing to overhear. And stopped in his tracks.

Neither deputy noticed. "Just in case you haven't figured it out, Sam, Danny isn't the only guy in DC who practically drools when CJ walks into a room."

"She's _still_ not here?" Toby demanded sharply.

Sam glanced his way for the first time, and shrugged. "Maybe some kind of emergency came up. With a friend, or a relative. She _could've_ forgotten to charge her pager."

"That's your _other_ favorite excuse, isn't it?" Josh's grin warped into a wince as Sam jabbed him in the ribs with one elbow. "Or maybe she shut it off so it wouldn't interfere with the treadmill again."

"Just so long as she doesn't break a nail on the equipment."

"Better than bonking your head like _some_ people I know."

"You can forget all about that vignette any time now, Josh. Besides, CJ is almost always here by seven, and the gym is not much more than a mile away. Do you want to bet she got stuck in a snow-bank?"

Josh released that mischievous smirk of his. "Ten bucks says she met someone."

"You're on." Sam grinned and took his leave.

Toby just stood there as Josh likewise strode off on some other errand. He cast a brooding eye at the closed door and dark windows of CJ's office. Then he looked at the wall clock for Washington time, which showed 8:26. His mouth tightened.

In silence, he moved over to the desk of one of his assistants.

"Bonnie, you have the Yellow Pages around?" he asked softly.

Bonnie blinked up at him in surprise. When her gruff boss used that particular low tone, something was bothering him... and he never liked to admit that anything _could_ bother him.

"Sure." She pulled a huge phone book from a nearby shelf and extended it with both hands. "Here you go."

He didn't thank her. He rarely ever did. "Hold my calls."

"Okay." She wore a distinctly pensive expression as she watched him go into his own office and close the door.

Toby sat down behind his desk, paused, and released a deep breath. Then he opened the directory and flipped through it until he came to "Hospitals."

*****

When he wasn't shadowing the President everywhere (carrying bags, opening doors, running errands and more), and when he wasn't dating the President's youngest daughter (watching movies, munching popcorn, and more), Charlie Young had his own desk in the reception area right outside the Oval Office. He _needed_ that desk, too; the sheer amount of paperwork required to run a nation defied belief, and all helping hands were welcome.

"Charlie?"

His head jerked up fast � the exact kind of guilty jerk consistent with a person whose mind had just been several light-years away. The personal secretary to the President was watching him, her eyes soft.

Charlie's skin was too dark to show a blush, but he couldn't hide the embarrassment in his posture and his voice. "Sorry, Mrs. Landingham."

"That's all right," she assured him kindly.

He did not feel reassured. This long-standing employee, for all her matronly pleasantness right now, was the single most formidable presence on the payroll, bar none. She took her duties very seriously, duties that included keeping the whole administrative staff in line � and sometimes even the President himself. Charlie had seen a few examples of _that_.

"No, I apologize. What can I do for you?"

"I was just wondering if you'd like a cookie."

The famous crystal cookie jar on the corner of her desk caught the rays of the morning sun, as though their contents contained genuine gold. Considering how prized they were among the staff, that could almost be true.

Charlie paused, his uncomfortable smile shifting to ruefulness. "I don't think that's the _real_ reason you woke me up."

Her reserved smile was fond. "No, but I didn't think you'd mind."

He looked back down at the papers before him, unable to remember what he'd been doing last. "I seem to be zoning out a lot these days."

"You obviously have a lot on your mind." Mrs. Landingham waited for one beat. "Zoey, perhaps?"

Had he been able, this time he _really_ would have blushed. "Yeah."

"How's she doing?"

Charlie took a deep breath. "She's still kind of nervous, when we're out together. Like she's just waiting for something bad to happen." The memories came back, so often thrust aside, but never totally banished. "I know how she feels."

"Of course you do." The presidential secretary had surrendered all pretense of work as well, fully focused on him.

"But I don't want to fuss around her too much, or treat her too soft. Or pretend that nothing happened and everything's just fine." The President's personal aide shifted in his seat. "It's been six months now since Rosslyn, and the security's still pretty tight. But _I_ want to be the one to protect her � only without _acting_ like I'm protecting her."

Mrs. Landingham nodded sagely. "In these days of feminine rights, women can be caught in a real quandary, too. We like to feel protected, but at the same time we don't want to be dependent on anyone." She sighed, remembering. "Look at CJ. For the first few weeks the men lingered constantly around her, as though because she was the only other woman to have been through the shooting she couldn't be expected to handle it as well as _they_ could."

The secretary paused for effect. "In actual fact, I believe that they found her to be the greatest source of strength for us all."

Charlie pondered this. "You know, I think you're right." Then he grinned. "I don't know why that surprises me."

Her smile returned, small and modest and confident all at the same time. "Don't worry about comforting Zoey, Charlie. I have no doubt that she's comforting you as well, whether either of you are aware of it or not."

*****

Only a person whose career is politics ever truly appreciates how many meetings can be crammed into a single day.

Leo marched into the office right outside his, radiating a mood that could be tangibly felt at ten paces. _"Margaret!"_

Seated only four feet away, she started visibly, her hands flying off the computer keyboard. Not until her initial fright was under control did she turn. "Yes, Leo?"

This reaction didn't even register on his mind as he strode past her and headed straight for his own desk. "How the hell many meetings do I still have today, and how many of them can I get out of without causing a national crisis?"

"Six," she stated immediately. "And zero."

"Terrific. I swear we've mastered the art of physically slowing down time itself. Now if only we can learn to speed it _up_ , so that this day will end that much sooner."

"We've already figured out how," she offered helpfully, following in his wake. "It's called the Christmas rush."

The Chief of Staff reacted every bit as violently to this news as she had to his earlier roar. "Margaret, so help me God, if you mention that one more time..."

She made an effort and stood her ground. "Leo, is there something specifically bothering you, or is it the entire holiday season in general?"

He threw his report file on his blotter and threw her an irritated look. "Wherever did you get the idea that something's bothering me?" He plunked down into his chair.

Margaret shrugged. "You've made me jump three times already today, you threw a file earlier, which you then proceeded to demand that I find for you, and you've been yelling at your phone _after_ you've hung up on the other party. Those are usually pretty good signs." Leo's granite look would have frozen a lesser mortal. "I thought that since it's obviously going to end up bothering me as well, I really should know what it is."

Leo gazed sourly at his well-littered desktop. "I've got far too much work to do, everyone's in a disgustingly good mood because of the snow, and at least one senior staff member has chosen to play hooky � as though they were schoolchildren rather than employees of the White House. I thought they knew me well enough by now to never even _contemplate_ such a thing."

Listening to him, one might envision a veritable reign of terror emanating from this office on a _good_ day. Still, even the most laid-back of McGarry friends could have seen how such disregard for his authority and standards was feeding his annoyance.

Margaret hesitated, then gathered her nerve. "That's assuming they're playing hooky _voluntarily_ , right?"

Something in her voice brought Leo to a halt. In the issuing quiet he studied her, finally picking up on the vibrations of genuine concern.

His secretary swallowed � he could pin a fly to the wall with a certain kind of glare � but she managed to persevere. "I mean, CJ is one of the few people around here who actually _cares_ about being considerate to the rest of us, and she's never once been flippant about her duties. She almost broke her neck checking her pager on a treadmill, for goodness sake. I know and _you_ know that she would never _purposefully_ disobey you."

And for the first time that day Leo admitted to himself that the clenched fist in his stomach was not anger, but fear... fear for the welfare of a friend.

*****

"Yes, Senator." Sam massaged the bridge of his nose in frustration as he listened to the rant coming over the phone. "Yes, Senator � _Yes_ , Senator, everything's on track. The Chief of Staff will be there." Pause. "And the Press Secretary, too." Pause. "Now you see how seriously we're taking this." Pause. "No, I'm sorry, the President is tied up today, but we'll inform him � " Sam covered the mouthpiece and heaved a huge sigh of martyrdom before returning to the conversation. "Sure, Senator, we'll see you then." Pause. " _Yes_ , Senator. Thank you." He hung up as fast as he could without actually slamming the receiver down.

"You're getting really good at sucking up to him." Josh had materialized out of nowhere and was leaning against the doorjamb, sleeves rolled up, arms folded, looking totally indolent.

"Well, Josh, you can't know what that means to me. Now that I know I'm so good at it, I'll do my best to _un_ learn the art at once." Sam paused, waiting for some explanation of his friend's presence. When it wasn't forthcoming, "What do you need?"

Josh shrugged. "Well, when I first wandered over here, I didn't have anything specific in mind. But since you're offering..."

" _Later._ Until then, can you possibly wander someplace else?" the Deputy Communications Director asked a bit _too_ politely. "You're actually making me look good, since I'm working and you're _not_ , but it still gets annoying after a bit."

"Any excuse to annoy you." Josh grinned � for a moment. "Actually, from here I get a better view of the entrance, for when CJ arrives."

That captured Sam's undivided attention. "She's not here _yet?_ " Clearly he no longer found this fact such a great a source of amusement or gambling anymore. He shot a glance at the clock on his desk. "The first briefing is in fifteen minutes!"

Josh tried to maintain his cavalier mood just a bit longer. "And I'm not doing it."

"You got _that_ right." Sam couldn't prevent a grin of his own; still, it faded faster than normal for him. " _No way_ she'll miss that, but she's cutting it way too close, and I'd sure feel better knowing why."

"Ditto � 'cause I want your ten bucks before coffee."

"All right... so when CJ comes in ten seconds from now, with a perfectly legitimate explanation, I get to tell her what _you_ thought she was doing."

Josh raised a defensive hand. "Okay, okay. Actually, she's ambushed me a couple of times in the past. It's fun having the shoe on the other foot, and I don't want to miss my chance." He pushed off the doorframe and stepped back into the hall to lie in wait some more.

Sam counted off those ten seconds in his head. No CJ. Frowning now, he rose and stepped out. Moments later, he reached Toby's closed door.

With this particular staff member, forewarned meant more than forearmed � it meant survival. Sam glanced through the blinds first... and saw his boss bent over the open phone book with the distinctive yellow paper.

That could mean only one thing.

"Whatever you're selling, I'm not interested!" came the muffled yet brusque response to his knock.

Sam let himself in anyway. "Don't worry. I sent the Girl Scouts packing."

Toby growled, literally, as he hung up his phone. "I've been planning for ages to install an iron crossbar on that door so that the Secret Service themselves can't disturb me when I don't _want_ to be disturbed. Thank you so much for making it my new top priority."

"Always glad to be of service." Sam strolled over and gazed down at the desk. "How's your search going?"

His boss hesitated for just one second � no more � before punching in a new number, not looking up at him. "What search?"

"Offhand, I'd say you're trying to find something." He leaned even closer, attempting to read the page's minuscule type upside-down. Not that he couldn't guess. "Or... someone?" The kidding note had departed from his voice by now.

Toby realized that his persistent colleague knew very well what he was trying to accomplish. No point in further evasion. He aborted the call.

"I'm doing what everyone on TV always does when a person goes missing," he grated. "I'm calling the hospitals and asking if they've admitted anyone this morning or last night that matches a certain description."

How typical of Toby: to care for someone and then do his level best to hide that fact from the world.

Sam always did try to look on the bright side. "Toby, she's never without her purse. Which means she's never without her ID. Besides, do you honestly think most people in this city don't know her on sight? If anything happened to the President's Press Secretary they'd report it _immediately_."

"And what if she had a serious car accident en route here? The weather's ripe for it. I'm not willing to bet that every paramedic in town watches the White House press releases, and they won't waste time calling her friends if her condition is critical."

Sam ran a hand through his short dark hair. This grumpy senior speechwriter could make the flimsiest argument seem perfectly plausible... and the projected anxiety was spreading.

He did try to instill a bit of optimism all the same. "Come on, what are the chances of that happening?"

Toby � there was no other word for it � glowered. "About the same odds as CJ being late for work in the first place."

Sam nodded reluctantly. "Point."

"And before you accuse me of anticipating the worse-case scenario, I called her place again. Still just the answering machine � which tells you that she isn't sick, or else she'd have called in herself and she'd pick up now. I also tried the gym, but that line has apparently been knocked out by the ice or something. Even so, CJ could walk the few steps to any one of a thousand pay phones in DC, whether she was snowed in, her car broke down or the traffic backed up. She works for the President, she's never been late a day in her life, and she's supposed to brief the press in �" he checked "� _thirteen minutes_. This is completely out of character for her, and I've had enough of us pretending that everything's all right!"

By the time he finished this little speech Toby's voice was rising dangerously. At last he realized it himself and looked away, as though almost ashamed of his outburst.

Sam just stared at him. His boss worked hard to maintain a reputation for stern aloofness. Somehow, CJ's unexplained absence had slipped past the armor.

Sam knew better than to mention that. An embarrassed Toby was harder to deal with than an angry Toby. As the Communications Director swiveled a few degrees to port, flushing slightly, his deputy decided that a cocktail of flattery and humor was made to order.

"Boy, the next time we write a speech about missing persons, you're the man. But it won't come to that, because CJ is going to walk through that door any second now, and I get to tell her that she just missed the most eloquent bit of ad-libbing I've ever heard from you."

Toby threw him another of those hard glares. "Do that, Sam, and you'll be kissing your ass good-bye one heartbeat later."

The younger man grinned as he edged towards the door. "In fact, the next time you have writer's block, I'll find a way to convince her to sneak out of town again. This really brings out the best in you."

"Sam..." When Toby's voice produced _that_ low rumble, smart people knew to run. Just for a bit more emphasis, he leaned forward as though about to rise and attack.

"I'm gone." Sam ducked out with alacrity. So much alacrity, in fact, that he failed to close the office door behind him.

Toby sighed in exasperation and was just getting to his feet to shut it himself, when Sam stuck his head back inside. "Um � "

  __

"What?"

Sam flinched, yet persevered. "If you do find out anything..." His voice trailed off, not needing to finish that quiet sentence.

The flame in Toby's dark eyes eased. So did his aggressive stance. "Depending on just what it is I find..."

He didn't have to finish, either.

Sam nodded slightly, seriously, and withdrew again. This time, closing the door behind him, granting his boss his privacy.

*****

The three men trooped into Leo's office for the second time in less than two hours. Again, unaccompanied.

Still going through those briefs, Leo looked up the moment their presence registered � and once he took a headcount the look on his face went beyond disappointment. Clearly his worst fears were being confirmed.

"No word, huh?"

No one had to say a thing.

The Chief of Staff exhaled heavily, pushed his papers aside, and closed his eyes for a long moment. "Okay, now I am officially worried."

Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking pretty helpless. "We can't go to the DC police yet; they need at least twenty-four hours to consider her missing."

From the pinch in Leo's forehead he didn't like his next order at all. "Someone start checking the hospitals."

"Already done," Toby informed him softly. And his lack of extrapolation indicated just how successful that approach had been.

Leo raised an eyebrow at being anticipated on such an unsettling topic � and by the least demonstrative member of the White House staff at that.

"She'd never miss a briefing," Josh pointed out, as if the rest of them had to be reminded of that fact. "At least, not voluntarily."

Silence. Their Press Secretary had _really_ vanished; no one could deny it any longer.

Now Leo rose. He walked to the window and paused there, studying the gentle blizzard, organizing his thoughts and emotions together.

"All right. Push the briefing back to nine-thirty. God willing, she'll be here by then at least. Josh, you speak to Carol � just in case."

"Right." That might have been a deeper breath on Josh's part, but no snide remarks were forthcoming... much to his relief. He'd heard enough about his one and only attempt at a press briefing to last the rest of his born days.

"And tell her not to draw any more attention to CJ's absence than absolutely necessary."

Sam fidgeted. "Well, the press is going to notice _something_ � "

"The word right now is that she is indisposed. Glaring headlines about a missing White House senior staffer won't help her _or_ us. Not yet, anyway," Leo amended quietly.

"So we all just go about our business as usual," Toby summarized, with deceptive cool. "Life trundles on."

"Yes, it does," Leo returned in almost precisely the same tone. "Whether we're talking about a high-profile personality, a dear friend, or a total stranger. We're _supposed_ to be the very last people around here to panic."

The two men locked eyes. That might have been a blatant challenge on Toby's part. That might have been a more calculating evaluation on Leo's.

The contrast between them was unexpected and tangible. Leo always reminded himself to rank duty before friendship; there was no other way to run a nation. As a rule Toby operated by the exact same high standards � but at this particular moment...

Their two colleagues held very still, as if fearing to tip a delicate balance.

Leo broke the spell first. "And now that the matter of our public image has been addressed, I'll speak to the President. It's high time we started to actively look for her."

The pressure bled off rapidly as everyone realized that something was going to be done after all. Something efficient, and something soon. They just wouldn't _broadcast_ it yet.

Toby drew back a couple of inches from the confrontation, and gave a slight nod � of undeniable gratitude.

"I agree."

Four heads jerked to one side. Towards the door that led from the Chief of Staff's office to the _Oval_ Office.

Jed Bartlet took in the measure of the room, arms folded, expression grim. Looking very presidential, and very concerned.

*****

Carol peered covertly at the reporters milling about the White House Press Room, her features an unhealthy ashen. "Ho boy..."

"How are you doing?" Josh asked, standing beside her.

"Uh � aside from being terrified?"

He rewarded her with one of his rakish grins. "Aside from being terrified."

"Oh, I'm _great_. Josh, there's no way I'm properly prepared to face this shark tank!"

"You'll be fine! They don't expect you to be as good as CJ � _no one's_ as good as CJ. But you're better trained for this than anyone else. And you have the info they want. Just be yourself. You know exactly what to tell them."

"And we're right here for you," Sam promised.

"And _don't_ take any questions."

"Absolutely."

Carol swallowed. " _Thank_ you. Maybe I'll survive this after all..."

They could hear Cathy inviting the Press Corps to take their seats.

"No turning back now," Carol muttered. She swallowed, drew a deep breath... and walked up to the podium.

The room fell silent almost at once. Sometimes even CJ couldn't accomplish that.

Three rows back, Danny Concannon went rigid in his seat.

"Good morning." Carol forced herself to look at the many faces all fastened eagerly upon her. "Uh � for those of you who don't know me, I'm Carol, CJ's assistant. I'm... afraid CJ is indisposed at the moment, so please bear with me. I hope I don't look as scared as I feel," she added in an undertone. The mikes still caught it, and several corps members chuckled kindly enough.

She launched into the briefing at once, before anyone could ask exactly where CJ was. This approach also helped control the shakes. "Okay, first off: the Atlantic Trawlers Union is meeting in the White House even as we speak, to discuss the Fisheries and Oceans Bill..."

"That's right, keep it rolling," Josh half-whispered his encouragement, as though Carol could hear him. " _Please_ , no interruptions � "

"Danny's gonna leap up in one more minute," Sam predicted uneasily. Both of them could see the redheaded reporter shift in place, his frown increasing.

"Nah, he won't want to draw attention to himself on _that_ topic. Besides, he's got no reason not to believe us."

"Yes, he _does_ ," Sam corrected. "I asked him earlier if he knew where CJ was, remember? He knows she's not just running late."

Josh closed his eyes in slow, eloquent despair. "Oh, swell. If he starts a cross-examination, they'll _all_ get into the act."

The relatively light news-day proceeded quite smoothly, with Carol gaining confidence as she went along. At the end, she visibly braced herself, that newfound confidence slipping just a bit. "I'm sorry, but I can't take any questions at this time. There'll be more later."

Josh and Sam tensed as well, just waiting for all hell to break loose before she could get clear of the room.

The inevitable shouts for more information might have been a bit less cacophonous than CJ usually faced. Perhaps these press members had some sympathy for her stand-in after all.

Curiously, Danny did not join in. He just sat there, looking more ominous by the minute.

Carol did her best to ignore the racket as she quickly gathered her notes for flight �

One loud voice rose above the rest, quelling all others. "There's a rumor going around that a strangely large number of Congressmen and civil servants are missing from work this morning and unaccounted for. Would the White House care to comment?"

Carol stopped in mid-stride and stared at him. _Missing from work �_ No way could she fail to make the connection with her own absent supervisor. She couldn't even hide the realization from showing on her face.

"Damn," Josh muttered, and rushed onto the podium, into the cameras. Every head swung his way as he stepped to Carol's side. She threw him a look of genuine fright, as though he was her only possible defender.

None of them intended to risk any dithering or suggestions here. "I believe Carol said there'd be no quest � "

"Yes, I heard about that too," another reporter said.

"Is no one in the government willing to admit that certain employees wanted the day off to go skiing?" a third piped up.

Josh paused, and glanced over at Sam in the wings, his brows kinked in a mute query.

Sam met his eyes, looking just as suspicious.

  __

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Other workers have disappeared without a trace as well?

This can't be a coincidence.

What is going on in DC today?

The number of raised voices was increasing. In desperation Josh summoned his best stern-boss attitude. "That's all for now," he said with finality, and shepherded Carol from the dais, trying to outrun the shouted demands behind them.

Danny leaped to his feet at the same moment.

Sam flattened himself against the wall to let his two colleagues pass. "Hey, you did good," he assured Carol as he fell in behind her.

"Yeah, _sure_ I did. I _panicked_." She didn't even glance at him, hurrying to get back to the relative safety of her own desk and her old job. She sounded like she was caught squarely between anger and tears.

Josh stayed close alongside. "Come on, they would've caught CJ out as well. We didn't know anything about this."

"No? Our Press Secretary's been missing all morning and we're just finding out the reason _now?_ "

"What is it, an epidemic?" Sam wondered aloud, still trailing in their wake. "A conspiracy in the halls of government? Or an alien abduction with very low standards, if they only go for public servants?"

"Couldn't tell you. But someone I _am_ going to tell is Leo." Josh took off towards the Chief of Staff's office.

"Right. I'll find Toby."

Carol ignored them both, dropped into her chair, and buried her face in her hands.

Sam paused another moment. "Seriously, Carol, you were fine. Take a deep breath. You know, you just might've scared up a vital clue to our little mystery."

This time she met his eye, appearing just a bit less upset with herself. He gave her his best smile, touched her arm gently in support, and headed out to look for his boss.

She tried to relax at least a bit, to breathe deeply �

"Carol!"

Her breath gasped out.

Every other head in the bullpen jerked up.

Danny blasted in and stomped over at a furious pace, his naturally-jovial features as dark as a storm-charged thundercloud. " _Where_ is CJ?"

This interrogation would be tougher than the whole Press Corps combined. "I told you, Danny � "

He shook his head. "I don't buy it. This isn't just a last-minute thing; she's been missing all morning. And I want to know why."

Carol shrank a bit in her chair. CJ could deal with him in her own way � but then, no one in Communications had ever seen him so belligerent before.

Of course, the underlying reason that currently fueled this belligerence had long since been known by all...

There's always one blanket statement to fall back on in an emergency. "I can't tell you." The press is never privy to _everything_.

He wasn't buying that, either. "Now why do I get the feeling that I'm being lied to? I can't imagine. I mean, I know we're talking about politicians here, but still � "

"Danny, we don't _know_ where she is!" Carol finally admitted, and this time her own anxiety came through loud and clear.

That unpleasant revelation would hardly pacify him now. "Then _why_ aren't you guys doing anything about it?"

  __

"Concannon."

Everyone spun around in concert. Toby stood six yards away, hands in pockets, head tilted back and eyes narrowed in that intimidating glare of his. There was no sign of Sam; apparently their paths hadn't crossed.

"Only _I_ am allowed to harass my staff. You shouldn't even be back here and you damned well know it."

Few people indeed chose to lock horns with the Communications Director when he was so plainly in argumentative mode. (The President might have been one noted exception, but his rank did have _something_ to do with it.) No member of the press would dare � and not just because of the potential radioactive fallout to their employment status.

If Danny even considered that truth, he didn't consider it for long. He turned from Carol and stalked over, the fightin' Irishman preparing for combat. "CJ never minds." That was plainly intended to be a pointed jab both at Toby's comparative intolerance and at his lesser influence as to just who was allowed where around here.

The jab missed its mark; Toby had been the first one to start worrying today. Also, since CJ worked out of the Communications office _he_ was directly responsible for the disaster at the press conference. _That_ minor detail was not likely to improve his temper at the moment.

He didn't move an inch, even as the space between them dwindled. His eyes were unyielding flint. "Well, CJ's not here right now."

"Which is exactly why _I'm_ here," Danny stated through gritted teeth. "I want to know what's being done to find her."

"The White House does not have to explain _every_ nuance of its operations to the press." Toby's astounding immobility in a heated confrontation had unnerved pugnacious lobbyists in the past.

It wasn't working here. Danny's advance didn't stop until he was well within arm's � or fist's � reach. "I have the right to know. I'm her _friend_." Clearly he didn't care how much anyone might choose to read into that statement.

"You think you're the only one who's concerned?" Toby countered in a frigid tone. "You don't corner the market on CJ's friendship."

"She means more to me than you're even _capable_ of knowing."

"I believe CJ would disagree with you."

And just like that, the entire mood transformed from two professionals debating freedom of information... to two male rivals squaring off over a female.

Not one among the surrounding cloud of witnesses so much as twitched, totally caught up in this battle of wills.

Danny's face flushed to almost the same shade of red as his beard. "Just what is _that_ supposed to mean, Ziegler?" he practically shouted, fists now clenched.

By startling contrast, as Toby neared his own boiling point his volume dropped. "It means," he said with deadly softness, "that unless you haul yourself out of this office in less than � "

Ginger chose that very moment to burst in. "Toby!"

Everyone _except_ the two combatants yanked her way. Neither of _them_ intended to permit a distraction until their little contest had been resolved.

Gasping for breath from running through the halls, she didn't wait until her boss deigned to acknowledge her. "Hostages have been taken downtown! At Capital Fitness � they've been barricaded in there since before seven this morning! And most of the captives are members of Congress!"

"Is that a fact?" Toby murmured absently, finding this news far less interesting than his own standoff. Danny's upper lip was curling into a genuine snarl. Their deadlock did not even waver.

Carol made the connection for them all. "Wait a � that's the gym where CJ works out!"

A ringing silence.

Toby and Danny turned from each other in unison.

The crackling anger drained away on both fronts. Suddenly their personal dispute had been completely upstaged in importance.

Toby looked at Ginger, who was trying not to hyperventilate. Then he looked at Carol, who was gripping her desk in near-panic. Then he looked at the other staff members, who were gathered around in various poses of alarm.

And then he looked back at Danny, whose features had shifted very quickly from furious crimson to fearful gray.

All quarrels were forgotten, in the face of true crisis.

Toby exhaled, suddenly looking very tired.

"Well, now we know why CJ didn't make it into work this morning."

~*~*~*~*~


	2. Sonata in C MaJor 2

**Sonata in C MaJor**

**by: SheilaVR**

**Character(s):** CJ  
**Category(s):** General  
**Rating:** MATURE  
**Disclaimer:** Warmest thanks to Aaron Sorkin, Warner Bros., NBC, et al for graciously allowing us to expand upon their patented creation at no extra charge.  
**Summary:** CJ disappears without a trace...   
**Spoiler:** After "Galileo".  


* * *

***

Phase II: Allegro

Allegro (adj.): in a brisk tempo

The atmosphere in the Oval Office positively sizzled with tension. Not because people were running frantically to and fro � rather, those assembled on that famous blue carpet stood as still as possible, so as not to miss a word of the current discussion. One might think they also wanted to channel every atom of energy into mental focus rather than waste it pacing.

The pervading differences of opinion only ratcheted the air pressure even higher.

How these people had positioned themselves conveyed volumes about the sentiment behind each mind. Leo stood quite close to the right-hand corner of the President's desk, as the President's right-hand man should � almost literally guarding his boss's flank. Josh and Sam, known for being not only the highest-charged personalities around but also each other's best friend, stood shoulder to shoulder on Leo's left. Toby had selected a spot slightly further back, like an independent source of knowledge and decision.

Across the presidential seal was the Director of the CIA, the Director of the FBI, and the coordinator for White House security. They stood in a straight row, each one the exact same distance from that carved desk, each one clearly not about to accept placement by so much as an inch behind his fellows � which would imply that his role was of lesser importance.

With this configuration, one could draw a line right down the middle of the room and divide its occupants into two conflicting forces: those who saw this scenario as an operation involving citizens... and those who viewed it as a crisis involving a friend.

At the very end of that almost visible line stood the man who had to stay perfectly balanced between these two diametrically opposed poles.

Josiah Bartlet loomed behind his desk, both hands planted on its polished surface, leaning just a bit forward in the classic pose of an angry leader. "Angry," however, would not do his current mood justice.

Behind him, the window-framed image of a snow-bound Washington � _his_ city� provided a fitting backdrop to the cold fire in his eyes.

"Reassure me. _Now._ "

Ron Butterfield took the initiative. "I dispatched Secret Service agents to Ms. Cregg's home and to the gym as per your orders, sir. The gym appeared to be closed for the day � but one of our men heard a tapping on a window. When he attempted to investigate, another window opened and a handgun emerged. Our people at once fell back and secured the perimeter. Then they contacted the FBI and the DC police."

The Bureau Director spoke up next. "We've confirmed that an undetermined number of armed men are forted up inside with at least two dozen hostages. The local merchants have reported that no one went in or out of the gym since at least 6 AM. It's a popular place for highly-ranked government officials to exercise, and residents are used to seeing some well-known personalities about at that hour."

The President straightened and checked his watch in some disbelief. "You're telling me these gunmen stormed a public establishment barely a mile away from here, took a group of congressmen and women hostage at gun-point, and we're just learning about it _four hours later?_ "

"Sir, we believe that the terrorists wanted to stay unnoticed until they were fully prepared to withstand a siege. Also, the extra time lag in which their prisoners didn't show up for work could have been a deliberate effort to unsettle the government even more, in the hopes that we would be more receptive to demands. This is a well-planned operation."

"I agree," the CIA Director put in. "They must've been aiming for congressmen and/or senators, and they chose a good location. That gym is like a neutral zone where members of opposing parties and affiliations can interact in relative peace. And the security has never been all that high."

"Any word on possible casualties?" Bartlet asked, steadily enough.

"None so far, sir," the Bureau Director admitted. "There's been no direct contact with the occupants at all. We first thought the phone lines were down due to the blizzard, but I have no doubt now that the gunmen are responsible for that. Naturally, they'd have confiscated every pager and cellular phone in the place."

"They're going to want to make their demands known at _some_ point."

The President turned his back and stared out into the still-falling snow. Right this moment, almost due south of where he stood, just beyond his sight, the latest crop of deranged idealists was threatening human lives in order to blackmail a civilized society and achieve their warped vision of an unrealistic utopia. For all his professed authority of supreme worldly power, he could not reach out across the distance and pluck the prisoners to safety � even though his entire soul shouted for the ability to do so.

This sort of thing had happened often enough before, so that its familiar rhetoric tended to lose at least some impact after awhile. That, of course, did not make the danger to the hostages any less real. And just to sweeten the pot a bit more, one of those hostages was a friend.

No one interrupted this executive contemplation.

Finally he asked, "What steps have been taken so far?"

The Bureau Director drew himself up. "Sir, the FBI is coordinating with the DC police. That entire block has been evacuated and sealed off. The word is out, though; the media are present. All contact with the gunmen will be classified. We're arranging a negotiator right now. Maybe we can gain some concessions to whatever demands they make � and either way, it'll help provide a smokescreen in case more forceful steps are taken later."

Josh and Sam both shifted feet worriedly, but said nothing. It was too soon.

"Sir, I have here a list of members of Congress, the Senate and all other levels of federal government who did not report to work today and whose absence is not accounted for." The CIA Director extended a file. Bartlet accepted and perused it. "We're already tracking down those who can't be involved in this situation. The terrorists will probably release some of the names of their captives, but we'll know who they _all_ are in just a little while."

"I know a lot of these people, at least casually." The President shook his head in a very depressed fashion. Then he handed the list to Leo, who surveyed its contents as well, his expression deteriorating.

Ron took his turn. "Sir, because of Ms. Cregg's direct involvement, the White House is now in lock-down. No one goes in or out."

Toby rolled his eyes, eloquently declaring how helpful he believed this measure to be.

Bartlet put that same opinion into words. "We don't want CJ's name linked to this _at all_ if we can help it, Ron. So far as anyone else knows, we're not directly involved yet. Won't locking us down make some of the more perceptive minds wonder?"

"Well, Mr. President, they'll just have to take my word for it that this is a precautionary measure."

They would, too; despite his mild appearance, the Special Agent in Charge of the White House detail of the United States Secret Service possessed an iron core that defied challenge.

"They'd _better_ ," Bartlet ground out. "If it leaks that one of the hostages is the highest-ranking woman on my staff � "

Up until now the _other_ members of his staff had said nothing. Their input would not be welcomed by the directors; that their viewpoints would conflict with the official approach was assured. In fact, Josh, Sam and Toby all felt more than a little lucky to be included in this meeting in the first place.

It was Leo who first chose to take part. "Actually, sir, the lock-down may work to our advantage. The press corps already knows that CJ was not available at nine-thirty. Now they'll assume that she's been locked out of the White House just as they've been locked _in_. No one will expect her back on the job until this whole thing is resolved."

Both the staff and the directors nodded, actually in consensus. Of course, everyone knew _that_ happy state of affairs wouldn't last long.

"Let's just be grateful that this headline didn't break until _after_ the press corps was already assembled," Sam commented. "Otherwise our first briefing of the day would have been even _more_ lively."

The President rubbed absently at the base of his neck. "So � for the time being, until these soldiers of fortune make their wishes known, we've taken all suitable precautions. Am I right?"

"Yes, sir," the three officials rapped out in unison.

Bartlet gave a brisk nod. "All right. Now for strategy."

The Bureau Director straightened his posture even more. "Sir, the UN directive � "

" _Don't_ say it."

He disobeyed a direct executive order and recited it anyway. "The United States does not negotiate with terrorists."

The CIA Director glanced at the ceiling expressively.

The President glared at being so summarily ignored; the man on the receiving end of that fiery eye actually leaned back a bit.

"Terence, I am well aware of what the UN, in its ivory tower of global perspective, has established as the only logical response to terrorism. Although this is the first time I've had to deal with such a dilemma directly, I am also well aware of just what is at stake. If I cave in to one group's pressure, then of course I'll be expected to cave in to every _other_ group out there, and we'll have a plague of violence on our hands with a terrible cost in innocent lives. We might as well throw the Constitution out the window. The next decision I make could send civilization back to the Dark Ages." Bartlet paused for effect. "That is not acceptable."

Josh and Sam winced together. At this moment their usually compassionate, civic-minded Commander-in-Chief sounded like a powerful world leader and nothing else. _The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few... or the one..._

"However..." Again a calculating pause. "There's another element to consider in this little equation: the voice of the people. No citizen likes to think that their government values their lives so cheaply that nullifying a terrorist threat takes precedence over the safety of the hostages. Whether or not I happen to _know_ any of those unfortunate individuals, I have a responsibility to every single one of them."

The President paused yet again. No one stirred.

"And when I _do_ know one or more of them, all that contributes is an extra element of anguish."

He was looking over their heads, staring into another dimension... where a rather unenviable choice awaited his verdict.

Sam released his held breath slowly; that was more like what the senior staff expected of their boss. By comparison, the three officials looked grim. Too much sentiment, by their way of thinking, would cripple this office in a heartbeat.

Bartlet came to himself after another moment, and shook his mind clear of the ugly images marching past. "Well, then. At the moment we have two options: to capitulate, or not. I want more to choose from than that."

"We'll get to work on it, Mr. President," Ron promised.

"Make it fast; no telling when those nuts are going to go public. Also, if anyone else has a suggestion, I want it considered as well. _Anyone_." Their Chief Executive sized up every person in the room. "There will be no power struggles between the various official organizations involved, and there will be no dismissing of ideas from _outside_ those organizations either. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." This time the replies were not in chorus, and far less enthusiastic. The CIA Director's was the last of all; that organization especially hated to yield control of anything.

Bartlet did not comment. He had more important things to do right now than mediate that age-old dispute about whose turf was whose. "Leo?"

His Chief of Staff stepped in. Enough theory; it was time they dealt with practical issues. "This is going to require a careful balancing act with the press; we don't want to give the gunmen any more publicity than is absolutely necessary. Until and unless the terrorists petition the White House directly, we'll stay out of it as much as we can."

"I'll brief Carol," Josh offered.

"Do it."

"One problem," Sam offered unhappily. "These maniacs are going to _want_ publicity. Just how far do you suppose they'll go to get it? _Execution?_ "

Josh flinched.

"We'll deal with that when and _if_ we have to," Leo told him firmly. "Until then, we don't feed the fire."

"Here's something else," Josh resumed. "Take a minute to think about just who they've got for their bargaining chips."

The others stared at him with varying levels of interest.

"A group of politicians and union members," Terence said, not quite managing to mask the caustic edge to his words.

"Probably felt that bureaucrats would put up less of a physical fight than some people," the CIA Director mused in much the same fashion. "They do battle with words, not blows." Both the FBI _and_ the CIA were more action-oriented and naturally developed some contempt for people who never entered "the field" as _they_ knew it.

"Well, this _is_ an historic moment," Bartlet observed with an even more derisive tone. "You two actually agree on something." The two men traded an almost surprised expression. "You may be way out in left field, but you're learning to cooperate."

Both men frowned, looking totally insulted; only the office of the President caused them to choke back their words.

" _My point,_ " Josh persisted, "is that they're all people who work out. They keep in shape. They may not be security-trained, but they're not totally helpless either. And I know CJ � she's not going to just sit back and be dictated to. She's going to do something about this mess � from the _inside_."

Terence snorted. "Oh, terrific. Just what we need: a supply of dead heroes."

Sam cringed.

"Director..." Leo said with that note of warning that everyone here knew.

"If we move in on them, it'll be with trained professionals who know exactly what they're doing. Any bright ideas on the part of the captives _could_ make matters worse."

"Do not think CJ reckless," Toby advised in that quiet voice of his. It was the first time he'd contributed to this entire discussion; heads promptly rotated his way. "Or any of the others. Every employee of this government has been briefed on how to conduct themselves in a terrorist situation. That includes how to prepare the way for their rescuers."

"Ms. Cregg is also familiar with Secret Service procedure," Ron volunteered.

The President nodded slowly. "Valid point, gentlemen. _If_ an assault team is brought in, we'll make sure they know that the hostages will be organized and ready for them."

"God, I hope it doesn't come to that," Sam muttered.

"Only as a last ditch effort," Bartlet assured him. "CJ isn't the only life at stake here. Some are elected representatives of the people, and some are just hard-working staffers who never make the headlines. Well, it doesn't matter. I want every last one of them out safely."

Their leader swept the room, meeting each pair of eyes. "Okay. Start formulating our possible responses. Right now the ball is in their court; I want to be ready when they volley it toward us."

"Yes, sir," everyone responded.

"In the meantime there are other matters on my plate... which means I can put off this particular conundrum for a _little_ while at least. That is all."

Josh, Sam and Toby all seemed a little taken aback at their leader's cool attitude toward such a delicate crisis involving such a close colleague. But they could hardly stand in the Oval Office and tell the U.S. President exactly what they thought of his impersonal stance, especially since it tailored with international policy. In silent reluctance they forced themselves to turn and leave. The three men opposite them looked somewhat more satisfied with the way things had gone as they followed; their views had been more obviously upheld.

Leo hesitated for one extra moment � and sure enough, Bartlet threw him a familiar glance. So he held his ground and watched as the others filed out, leaving the two most influential men in the country to confer in private.

*****

"Didn't that seem just a _bit_ strange to you?" Sam queried as the four staffers marched down the hall together.

Josh threw him a hard look. "You mean how the President appeared almost detached from this whole issue? Yeah, I noticed."

"Remember this time last year when that military doctor of his got shot down? He was all set to pave Syria."

"Uh-huh. And his relationship with Tolliver was not even _remotely_ comparable to his friendship with CJ." Josh's teeth were grinding as he led the way into the Communications area. At her desk, Carol promptly gave them her full attention. So did almost everyone else. "Damn it, she's been a vital part of our team since the _campaign_ , that's ignoring the fact that she's one of our _best_ _friends_ , and he can't do better than _wait and see_?"

"I'd better not comment on that � not if I don't want to sound treasonous."

Carol glanced from one to the other in vivid concern. The loyalty of the entire staff to Jed Bartlet had never been in doubt before.

Clearly Josh agreed with Sam more than a little. "He's listening to the wrong people. _Those guys_ treat hostages like numbers on paper, not human beings at all!"

"Leo will talk some sense into him."

"If he doesn't, _I will_." The Deputy Chief of Staff was seething. "I can't stand this waiting around. For my money, not knowing exactly what's happening in that gym is worse than hearing the bad news itself."

"On the other hand, so long as the outcome is in doubt we can still influence it," Sam pointed out soberly.

"Right now I don't put a lot of stock in the FBI's approach. Way too heavy-handed. What do they care about a congressman here, a senator there... A mere Press Secretary will merit even _less_ of a nod from them � "

"If you have an alternative, the President has stated that he'll be pleased to entertain it." This counter from Toby swung the pair of them into an about-face. His posture was stiff. "Almost all of those people are public figures in DC, and none of them are on the Service's protection list. CJ in particular is a personal friend of the President, which makes her an even more effective tool for maximum news coverage and emotional blackmail. Once the gunmen realize that, you can bet they'll put her center stage. So if we can come up with any ideas of our own, we'd better do it fast. We were complaining earlier about not knowing where she was or what we should do; now at least we have a concrete focus for our anxiety. Let's use it."

The two men stood there for a moment, well-chastised and thinking furiously. The rest of the Communications staff maintained their distance and as much of a quiet as they could. Carol alone did not pretend to ignore them, knowing that she'd be dragged straight into this in one more minute, and her nervous expression advertised just how out of place she felt witnessing what amounted to a war council.

Sam rubbed the knuckles of one hand under his chin in a thoughtful manner. "Josh, I'm sure you were right about the hostages working together. Hell, by now CJ's probably taken the lead and started a plan of her own."

"Yeah, but there's an added complication to that." Josh sounded rather less optimistic. "Even if the gunmen do intend to eventually free their prisoners, I doubt they'll use kid gloves in the meantime � for sure not with anyone who shows resistance. Also, the women are almost always victimized more than the men."

Carol inhaled sharply and raised her hand to her mouth at the hideous thoughts spawned by that cold fact.

"And CJ is not the type to sit down and obey � not without putting up a fight," Toby muttered, not to add to the others' demons, but to give voice to his own. His gaze swept blindly across the room, his hands coming up to hold his head together.

Sam whirled and slammed his fist into the nearest wall. Several people in the area around them jumped visibly.

Josh's fists were flexing, as though in search of some object to squeeze � like a human throat. "If they do anything to her..."

"Don't even put it into words," Sam said, with a combination of fear and fury.

"If only we could get a message through to her!"

"If only."

Toby's dark eyes were like bullets, but otherwise he'd gotten himself back under control. "Well, the moment either of you comes up with a stroke of genius I want to hear it. I have some steps of my own to take." So saying, he marched off towards his office.

Carol looked at his retreating back, then at his deputy in unadulterated fear.

Sam noticed her at last, and managed a bit of a smile somehow. "Don't worry; we'll help you prep. There's enough time to do it right."

She did not appear all that reassured at the prospect of facing the press corps again, but she scrounged up a nod. "Okay." Somewhat resignedly, she returned to her work.

By now Josh's own rage had faded into pure guilt.

"And to think that we were taking bets about the reason CJ was late," he almost whispered, unable to meet his best friend's eye.

"Yeah." Sam slumped against the wall he'd assaulted, in equal regret. Then, "I just had a horrible thought."

"Add it to the pile; one more can hardly matter at this stage."

"Oh, I think this one will matter quite a bit." He took a deep breath. "At some point, someone is going to have to inform her family."

Josh stiffened at that, teeth clenched.

Sam scratched his head. "So here's the question: do we tell them now, or later?"

Pause.

"Well, since she hasn't yet been publicly associated with this thing yet, we can't say a word. If there's even a _chance_ that CJ has managed to remain anonymous, then we can't do _anything_ that might put her further in danger."

"And if the names of the hostages are broadcast over every radio station in town? It'll be across the whole country five minutes later."

Josh closed his eyes and let his head fall back as far as it would go.

What would be worse? Being told by your daughter's employer that she is a hostage in a terrorist drama, and no one knows if she's dead or alive? Finding out over the airwaves with the life-and-death tension at its height, because no one wanted to worry you? Learning only when it's all over that she didn't survive, and you never even knew she was in danger?

"Suddenly gives you a better feel for the President's situation, doesn't it?"

"Sam, you are entirely too good at complicating issues even further."

"At the moment I'm hating myself for it. Listen, I'm going to help Carol. She's more than a little overwhelmed right now."

Josh grunted. "She's not the only one. It's always at the least convenient moment that we truly grasp just how dependent we can be on one person."

"No kidding." The Deputy Communications Director pushed himself upright... and paused. "Do you have anything you can't cancel today?"

"You mean, do I have any impending policy discussions that are more important than the welfare of a best friend?"

"Exactly."

Josh considered. "I couldn't focus on anything else if my life depended on it."

Then he stopped � too late. The obvious connection had been made.

Sam went ahead and said it anyway. "And someone else's might."

*****

The President of the United States and the White House Chief of Staff stood side by side, staring through the ceiling-high windows of the Oval Office, watching the snow continue to descend upon their capital city.

One might think that in private these two old friends � _best_ friends for more than forty years � could forget, at least temporarily, about their not-unimpressive titles and their considerable responsibilities. That they could lay aside the tremendous burden of running the strongest nation on earth for a few minutes at least, and enjoy a brief, well-deserved moment of personal agony... that they could be just Jed and Leo again.

"I'll bet the guys are not too pleased with me right now," Bartlet muttered.

Leo sighed, not looking at him. "They understand, don't worry."

"From the looks they gave me, I seriously wonder."

Leo inclined his head in agreement with that observation, but he didn't back down. "You did what you had to do."

"Oh, sure. I acted like the President. I consulted all the officials, I heard all the arguments, and I agreed to all the reasoning that insists we cannot negotiate with terrorism. I did exactly what my official position demands: I put the well-being of America first." Bartlet's tone grew more bitter by the moment. "I even did my duty by the hostages, acknowledging their importance as citizens and, in some cases, fellow leaders of this country. I made it clear that their safety is paramount � just so long as we don't give in. And throughout all of this, I didn't let my personal feelings distract me from the harsh reality of this dilemma."

"You have to face the worst-case scenario; there's no hiding from it."

"Meaning that I must consider where and when I may have to make sacrifices, even if it potentially costs innocent lives." The President turned away with a jerk and started to pace. Leo followed him with his eyes.

"Members of Congress are replaceable. So are administrators. So are Press Secretaries." He halted very briefly, then forced himself onward. "Hell, so are _Presidents_. But _human lives AREN'T!_ " The walls vibrated that time.

Bartlet spun back to face his old friend, as if wise and steady Leo McGarry had all the answers. " _How?_ How can anyone value life so cheaply that they will blow up planes with medical personnel, or shoot at people in a crowd, or threaten to murder someone in cold blood, just so that they can get what _they_ want?"

Leo turned this speech over in his mind. "Because they can."

The President looked away, unsatisfied with that evaluation. "Well, right now part of me is screaming that this must not be tolerated. We have to crush any effort to undermine democratic authority and endanger those who abide by that authority. We have to prove that they _can't!_ "

Leo said nothing, a silent observer to executive turmoil.

Bartlet came to a stop directly over the presidential seal. He studied its intricate stitching for several seconds... and his official role slowly, reluctantly, visibly reasserted itself.

"Meanwhile, I'm thinking about people who have been selected by their constituents to improve their lives. I'm thinking about people who have volunteered to do the drab and tedious work behind that political front, without which this government can't possibly function. And I'm thinking about _one_ person � who helps keep me on an even keel, who is an indispensable member of our administration, who isn't afraid to look her President in the eye and tell him what she knows is right..."

His voice dropped again.

"And I'm thinking about all their families, too."

Leo waited for a heartbeat or so, and then moved around the desk and crossed the carpet to stand on the other side of that seal. Looking at his leader. Being there.

After what felt like an hour, his old friend straightened again.

"You don't know how many times I've faced this nightmare in my dreams, with my own family members. I hate all the security around us, but I know how necessary it is. Each time I think about making these very decisions, I shudder. I completely recoil from being forced to choose between one of my loved ones and the policies of this nation."

His voice began to rise again. "Leo, you're my family as well. You, Josh, Toby, Sam _and_ CJ. All of you! _And I will not permit my family to be harmed._ "

*****

Like everyone else in the White House, Danny Concannon was locked indoors and forbidden to leave. Unlike _almost_ everyone else, he knew the real reason why.

And like most of those privileged few also in the know, he understood the full meaning of helplessness. There was virtually nothing to do except wait... and trust that the right steps were being taken by others.

So he waited. He had forced himself to return to the White House Press Corps office area. He stayed in his cubicle, blocked out everything else, and vented his frustration and worries by pounding his laptop � the only weapon and form of mobility left him.

"Danny?"

His head bobbed up at once. So much for ignoring the world.

"Carol!"

CJ's assistant stood a few feet off, as though afraid to come too close. She fiddled with both hands, apparently not quite sure where to put them. From her tense expression, she was hanging onto her composure by all ten fingernails.

"Any news?" But as soon as he asked, he could read the answer in her depressed headshake.

When she hesitated again, he decided that perhaps she needed him to take the initiative. "Listen, I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"It's okay." Carol managed a tiny shrug. "You're as worried as the rest of us."

He looked down. "Yeah."

Several seconds ticked past, while his mind filled with torturous thoughts about a certain Press Secretary in dire peril, before he realized that Carol was still standing there, watching him. He looked up again, trying to decipher the angst in her eyes.

"Danny..." she began with an effort, "is this a bad time for me to speak to you?"

He blinked in surprise. She had sought him out any number of times before... but always at CJ's request, he realized. Suddenly, he saw in Carol a companion in his powerlessness and fear. His compassionate nature reached out to the forlorn young woman before him.

"Nah. I was just trying to distract myself. Here, let me get you a chair."

The fact that she didn't wave away the offer indicated that she wanted to say something neither unimportant nor brief. He swiped a chair from a nearby vacant desk and moved it over so that she could sit comfortably close and appreciate at least the illusion of privacy.

"Thanks." Carol sat. Danny sat. The silence lengthened between them, even with the constant background hum of printers, photocopiers, movement and muted conversation.

He waited patiently; she had to decide when and where to begin.

She glanced around in an attempt at relaxing small talk. "It's a lot less hectic here than in Communications right now."

"Really? This place can get pretty crazy, too."

"Yeah... I suppose it can."

Silence descended again, the tension unrelieved, as he watched her grapple with her demons.

"Danny... about CJ's disappearance � "

He raised both hands at once. "Hey, you don't need to ask; mum's the word. I haven't spoken to anyone. I know I'm sitting on a major angle to the hostage story that would blow this whole thing wide open, and the public has the right to hear about it � but I also know that making it general knowledge could put her at an even greater risk than she is already. There's no problem holding back for now."

Carol nodded jerkily. "Uh, thanks. That does make me feel better, and I'm sure others will, too. We all knew you could be trusted with this. But... that's not exactly what I was getting at."

"It's not?" Now she _really_ had his attention.

"No." She fidgeted. "It's just that I'm, well, kind of left holding the bag here. And I don't mind admitting that it scares me. I was wondering if... if I could ask you for some � you know, some business advice."

Danny considered this, an extraordinary request indeed from a White House employee to a journalist, then gave her an understanding smile. "Sure. Anything I can do to help."

Now that she'd started, Carol couldn't hold herself in. "Until CJ comes back, they want me to keep up the front. And I'm _not_ looking forward to the next briefing."

"I can't say I blame you � but it won't be that bad."

"You don't think so? I'm far more terrified of thinking on my feet during the Q&A than the actual briefing. I broke last time, and they all saw it; they'll be dying to break me again so that I spill more information than I'm supposed to!"

"Sure, it's nerve-racking. You're certainly bright, but it takes years of experience, natural grace, and courage beyond measure to handle the press as deftly as CJ does. No one expects you to do as good a job in a single day."

"But the whole White House is counting on me!" Carol cried out, her volume rising in near-panic. "They need someone who can tell the truth in one sentence and hide it in the next, someone who won't give away their plans to the whole world � to the terrorists as well! I feel like I'm holding CJ's _life_ in my hands, never mind all the others!"

Danny reached out a comforting hand between them. "Calm down. It's not fair for you to take that burden upon yourself. We're all doing the best we can in a difficult situation. This is a united effort, you know."

Carol paused, fighting her fear. "You're right. I'm just having a lot of trouble convincing myself of that." She exhaled. "Thanks for listening. I really needed to talk to someone � someone who's _not_ debating plans of attack with the FBI. Someone who really cares."

"No problem. But don't sell the other guys short. They care a whole lot, too � they just have something concrete to do right now, and I don't."

They fell silent again... perhaps remembering a certain confrontation in Communications earlier that day.

Then Danny perked up. "Say, how about if I give you a few pointers? You know, what questions you'll probably get, and how to handle them?"

Her brows pinched. "Well, Sam's been coaching me on the side, when he has time. We already went through several..."

"Then let's go through them again so you know you've got it down. Besides, I might be able to come up with a few that he missed." Danny grinned proudly.

Carol picked up on that, and her own spirits rose a bit. "Okay. I can use the practice, and I'd rather be doing something proactive anyway."

"That goes for me, too."

He began slowly, gently asking some questions that were sure to come up and rehearsing her on the responses. It was a delicate balancing act to judge which ones should be answered frankly, which should be put off, and which required certain levels of vagueness. But between Danny's experience on the other side of the coin and the number of times both had seen CJ at work before, they made good progress. Gradually, Carol's answers grew more confident, and her anxiety diminished. Just as gradually, Danny picked up the pace and his challenges became more biting.

"How far will the White House go to protect this privileged group of hostages?" he demanded at one point, in the sharp tone that a no-nonsense reporter would certainly use.

Carol paused to give this question the thought it needed before she formed a reply, just as he'd taught her... and her new assurance fell away.

"How far _will_ the White House go?" she repeated tentatively � and now _she_ was putting the question to _him_.

Danny stopped as well, his didactic role evaporating as he really considered the question, no longer an exercise.

Neither of them had the answer. Both of them knew it.

They sat there, in the new and unhappy quiet, taking a moment to silently comfort each other in their mutual fear, giving both something to carry them a little further into the nightmare.

*****

"Sir, I think that a bit more clarification as to why this shift in economic trends will benefit the medical system would be appreciated by most of your listeners. It makes sense to us, but they won't have the numbers right in front of..." Pause. "Mr. President?"

The young man looked over his clipboard at the occupant of the high-backed leather chair in the Oval Office. Said occupant was staring vacantly into space.

A full three seconds elapsed before Bartlet registered on the address, the silence, or both, and turned back to his advisor. "Huh?"

The young man politely did not comment.

"Oh � I'm sorry, Malcolm. You were saying?"

"It's okay, sir."

"No, it's not. I'm having a hard day, but that's no excuse." The President glanced down at the report before him. "Where were we? That bit about funneling some new money into Medicare, right?"

Malcolm managed not to sigh. "Yes, sir. I was saying � "

A knock on the door to the Oval Office interrupted him. Both men turned as Leo let himself inside.

He didn't have to say anything. The dark expression on his face spoke volumes.

Bartlet straightened in his seat. "The hostages?"

His old friend responded with the barest nod.

"Damn. I don't think one thing has been timed right today. Malcolm, I'll have to get back to you later."

The young man resignedly gathered up his notes. "Of course, sir."

"No, I'm not brushing you off. Let me resolve this national crisis first, and then we'll be free to tackle the _medical_ crisis. I promise you that." Trying not to look eager at ending this discussion, the President rose and shook his advisor's hand.

"Sure thing. Thank you, sir."

The leader of the free world and his right-hand man did not move, watching Malcolm's exit as silently and carefully as though they were both very reluctant to see him go. The instant the door clicked shut behind him, though, Bartlet spun around.

"Well?"

"We've heard from the terrorists," Leo informed him in a low tone.

The President braced himself. "CJ?"

His Chief of Staff's head moved slightly to either side, just once. "Nothing."

Bartlet exhaled. "Well, now we know that they weren't after her specifically, rather than whatever officials just happened to be there. Otherwise, they'd be proclaiming her name right and left."

Leo nodded. "Yep. They did release a few other names, just to prove their point. Of course, CJ knows to keep a low profile, what with her direct link to you."

"That 'direct link' is a real curse to her right now." The President turned back to the window, again wishing he could see through the buildings and trees and the very walls of the besieged gym itself. "I'm having the devil's own time concentrating on anything else today."

"I know how you feel," Leo commented softly.

A pause settled between them.

"So who are these idiots anyway, and what do they want?"

"Well, they haven't broadcast a name per se, but it looks like we lucked out at least a bit: they're not the fanatics everyone hears about and dreads the most. Apparently they chose to target wealthy congressmen since they feel Congress has done nothing to combat poverty in DC, let alone elsewhere in the country. All things considered, their cause is noble enough."

Bartlet let out a deep breath that sounded more like a growl. "Oh, sure. I'll compliment them on their dedication to the betterment of society, regardless of their chosen method to advertise it. I presume they're threatening to either harm or kill their wealthy _and_ high-profile prisoners unless the United States government finally takes concrete action against poverty, and unless whatever other demands they have are not met, et cetera, et cetera. Right?"

"Right." Leo shifted. "And unfortunately, they're still capable of planning this strategically despite their benevolent intentions. They chose today on purpose, knowing that the blizzard would work to their advantage. The police can't maintain a long-term stakeout in sub-zero weather. And one of their other demands is for a chopper, so that they can make a fast getaway despite the road conditions."

"Wonderful. _Principled_ terrorism. I'd rather deal with these guys than the type that wants to start a holy war, but that doesn't make them any less of a threat to their hostages, and it doesn't make my final decision any easier." The President revolved. "Quite the contrary: now I have to take _their_ humanity into account as well."

His Chief of Staff mirrored that taut stance. "Perhaps not just yet."

Bartlet heard the note of warning, and clenched his teeth. _"What?"_

"There... may have already been casualties among the hostages." This time Leo _had_ to pause. "We've got an unconfirmed report of shots having been fired inside the gym."

One heartbeat thudded past... and then another... each man alone with his tortured thoughts.

"Any word on a real plan of attack yet?" the President inquired at last, forcing himself not to ask the _real_ question on his mind.

"They're still assimilating this new info. At least our chances of negotiation � or _appearing_ to negotiate � have increased a lot," Leo pointed out with the first hint of optimism. "These people aren't just operating on rage and injustice. They seem to be genuinely concerned for the welfare of this country. We believe they will respond to negotiation."

"Thank God for small mercies." Bartlet lifted his gaze upward, as though appealing directly to heaven for guidance. Then he sighed. "I still can't capitulate, but I can stall. Whatever it takes to get CJ � _and_ the others � out safely. Keep me informed, Leo."

His old friend stood at attention. "Yes, sir."

The President turned back to his southern view. Countless unrelated duties still confronted him, decisions and appearances that not even a hostage situation could completely overshadow. But right now he did not want to be distracted from this concern at all.

He realized that Leo had not left the Oval Office when a supporting hand descended upon his shoulder. Neither man looked at the other. They just stood there together, in the silence, staring out into the snow, sharing the burden of democracy and the price of friendship.

*****

The door to Josh's office was closed, muffling voices both inside and out. Any casual passerby glancing through the glass panes on either side would have naturally assumed that the two men inside were concentrating on their work, to the exclusion of all else.

Actually, their focus was elsewhere this afternoon... and had such a passerby ventured to intrude, the sheer potency of helplessness, rage and fear within � and the _silence_ � would have removed all doubt as to where.

Sam sat in the guest chair with a pad and pen on his knee. He'd been making a valiant attempt at official business for some time now. Finally, though, he hit his limit and tossed the file onto the nearby table with a dispirited sigh.

Josh had already abandoned any pretense at concentration. He turned from the opposite wall and looked across his desk at his friend. "I second that motion."

Silence.

They were thinking about the very same things and both knew it, yet neither had the first idea how to address them. Their eyes met briefly, then looked away again.

Josh broke first. _This_ silence was worse than the previous kind. "They've made their demands?"

Sam didn't glance his way. "Yep."

"Nothing we're about to give them?"

Sam continued to study the floor. "Yep."

"So an assault is imminent?"

And still Sam gave no obvious sign. "Yep."

Josh massaged his forehead, but no amount of physical therapy could relieve his pain. "They'll wait for full dark � and then..."

He couldn't continue.

Now Sam shifted, desperate to fill the void before it engulfed him.

"Didn't you ever want to be a superhero? When you were little, I mean?"

Josh stopped rubbing his temple and peered through his fingers at that apparent non sequitur. "What in God's name are you talking about?"

"You know � a hero. A crimefighter. Superman, Batman, et cetera." Sam's hands made aimless patterns in the air. "Saving the world from certain disaster, rescuing damsels in distress..." He trailed off weakly at the expression of both wonder and discomfort he was getting, then attempted to regroup. "No? Me, neither."

Josh sat back, and deliberately thought about it. "Yeah... I did. I guess I still do. Look at what I do for a living."

For one instant that might have been the merest hint of a grin on Sam's boyish face. "Good one."

Josh aimed his gaze at the small window. "Man, I could sure use some abilities like that right now." His eyes began to film over, entering another dimension. "But in real life, sometimes the heroes don't show up at all. Or sometimes they're just too late... The damsels are already hurt... or dead."

Silence.

It was right in the middle of that awful quiet when Toby decided to barge in. Only Sam turned his way. Josh didn't even appear to notice, his head tilted back and his focus distant.

The Communications Director surveyed this motionless pair for a moment, and his habitual scowl deepened. "Well, I really hate to interrupt your séance here, but this government does need to project _some_ illusion of productivity."

Sam considered this leisurely. He'd built up quite a tolerance to his boss's caustic tone over the past two years. "Now that you mention it, a little assistance from the paranormal would be welcome right about now..."

"Sure � let's scare the bad guys _and_ their prisoners to death. Break out your crystal ball." Toby adopted a defensive stance near the doorway, hands in pockets. "For all we know, this whole hostage thing might be some kind of political smokescreen to force the President's hand on a totally unrelated issue. So, we keep going. Even the lock-down won't get you out of your six o'clock with McWilliams; they're setting up the teleconference in the Roosevelt."

After a moment to digest this, Sam's shoulders slumped in a weary exhalation. "Fine. It's not like anything _important_ demands my time right now," he muttered sourly.

Toby ignored that; he rarely if ever expended time and energy on his deputy's feelings about such assignments. "Just wake up the Dreamweaver there before you take him along."

Slouched in his desk chair, Josh had taken no notice of this entire discussion. His eyes remained fastened on something neither of his colleagues could see. Now, suddenly, he spoke up.

"You know, I bet they just walked into the gym like anyone else. There's no security guard or anything." His tone was low and thoughtful... and strained. Both men turned to him. "But the moment they showed their guns, people would've tried to run. A couple of gunmen must've barred the main entrance at once while a few others went off to secure the other exits. Then they would've tracked down all the cell phones and cut the main line so no one could call out."

"Josh..." Toby warned him quietly.

The Deputy Chief of Staff gave no indication he'd heard. His eyes wandered around the room, but saw nothing in it.

"And then they'd want to bring all their prisoners together in one place. This means, of course, that they raided the men's _and women's_ locker rooms and showers."

Sam grimaced in acute discomfort. "But there have to be some spots where people could hide in that place... provided they had enough warning � "

"The terrorists struck just after six. CJ would've finished her workout at about that time. Which means she was almost certainly changing."

"Josh � " Toby tried again, with a bit more inflection.

Josh paid no mind whatsoever to either of his companions; he was in his own tormented world, and talking himself into a frenzy.

"What state of dress or _undress_ would she have been in when they blew through those locker-room doors?"

  __

"Josh." That was Toby's dangerous voice, entirely too soft for safety's sake. He still didn't move, but his face was getting redder and redder.

By contrast, Josh's was getting paler and paler as vivid images assaulted his mind. "And what would they do to her if she gave them the slightest trouble? Besides, just the _sight_ of a half-naked woman � "

With no warning, Toby erupted. In one motion he seized the coat-rack and flung it against the chalkboard so hard that a chip fell out of the black graphite surface and one of the steel hooks bent almost double. Josh and Sam both shot out of their chairs, and together they watched in shock as the rack skittered along the board and bumped its way down to a resting-place on the floor.

Then, slowly, they looked up. Toby's fists were clenched, his chest heaving.

"It's _not_ going to happen," he gasped out at last, in a level enough tone, yet deep and hard � changed almost beyond recognition. _"She's going to be fine."_

Then, twisting away from the disbelief before him, he stalked out of the office.

Josh and Sam stood alone, staring after him. Motionless and silent outside, the entire Communications staff stared back at them in equal wonder.

It seemed ages before Josh could pull himself together enough to meet Sam's gaze.

"She's the closest thing I have to a sister now."

It was horrible enough to threaten her life; for some reason that none of the men could quite grasp, the notion of threatening her _body_ derailed their composure completely. Somehow, _that_ idea was more unnerving even than the thought of her being killed outright.

Sam understood his buddy like almost no one else did. He reached over and gripped him by the upper arm, one pal to another.

"We'll love her no matter _what_ happens," he promised.

*****

Again, the defining image was of an Oval Office sparsely populated, yet packed to its ornate plaster ceiling with suspense.

Outside, nightfall had long since descended over the New World... a fitting backdrop to the prevalent mood. Not even the sight of Washington's downtown glory outlined in pinpoints of silver brilliance could help. Naturally, no one present had been permitted to leave the White House, much less go to the gym in person � so instead they came to the place where the merest whisper of news would be received first.

The President paced constantly, not fast but without pause, back and forth, hands clasped behind, eyes dark and brooding, worry etching its way deeper and deeper into his face. He couldn't bear to move more than a few feet from the phone on that one-hundred-and-eighteen-year-old carved desk... nor could he bear to sit still and placidly let the news come to him.

Everyone else present did stay relatively still, though not out of deference alone; no one dared to get in his way. However, several expressions proclaimed the desire that their leader would take his seat so _they_ could leap up and expend their own nervous energy in the same manner, rather than just sit. And fidget.

Each person dealt with the forced inaction in his own way. Now and then Leo would leave his armchair and step into his own office right next door as though overseeing other matters as well, only to return within minutes; this was his version of pacing. Sam sat stiffly on one of the sofas, jotting down notes to himself and studiously refraining from so much as a glance up. Josh slumped on the other couch, his hair, shirt and tie all rumpled; his eyes were bloodshot, roaming the chamber ceaselessly. Toby, ever the loner, maintained his trademark motionlessness as he stood staring out one of the tall windows... gazing south. Towards the gym, and the dire events unfolding at this very moment.

"The waiting is always the worst." Bartlet kept his voice down, all too conscious of the mood, but in this nerve-racking quiet his words seemed to ring out. He was checking his watch twice a minute, almost, as though he couldn't remember what time it displayed mere seconds after looking � or as though he expected time to leap forward at any moment. Now he forced himself to stop for a moment and take in his surroundings: this historic chamber, the ultimate source of raw power in the entire world... and its occupants. Employees, colleagues... friends... whose number was reduced by one.

Leo and Josh met that grave executive eye, one supportive, one barely under control. Sam raised his head as well, in the most elemental sign of respect. Only Toby refused to turn and acknowledge their leader.

Bartlet did not call him on that. He studied the other three, exhaled, and resumed his efforts to wear a path in the rich blue carpet.

"How many hours does an operation like this _take_ , anyway?" he ground out. "It's almost _midnight._ "

This was not the first time he'd asked that... and no one had an answer any more now than before. Sam returned despondently to his notes; Josh reclined his head and closed his eyes in the perfect exhaustion of the soul.

The President reached the end of his self-appointed beat and revolved. "Are we _sure_ the SWAT team knows how to treat the hostages?"

Leo managed not to groan. This was not the first time for _that_ question, either. "Yes, sir, they were all fully briefed. They'll be ready for any assistance on the inside. And they won't run any risks that aren't absolutely necessary."

There was some comfort in the reiteration, like a familiar litany. After all, they had little else for now. Bartlet simply nodded. He slowly strode the width of his office yet again, pivoted, and strode back. "Still, all the things that can go wrong..."

Josh could _not_ prevent a groan. Clearly he was holding himself together with baling twine and prayer. Then words burst from him. "How can the FBI deny CJ a simple phone call to _her_ boss, of all people?" He was not looking at the President; he'd resumed that spaced-out attitude that all of them had come to recognize today.

"They have to look to _all_ the prisoners," Leo pointed out softly, liking it no more. "They can't afford to play favorites in a � "

Josh didn't even hear him. "Is she still trapped in the gym somewhere? Is she in the hospital? Did the terrorists _do_ something to her? She hasn't escaped, or else she'd hit a pay phone at the very least!"

Toby still didn't tear himself away from the window, but his eyes closed in voiceless pain.

"Easy, Josh," Sam advised. His tone was so low that it's doubtful it could have drifted across the four short feet between them; he might have been speaking for his private benefit alone.

Bitter silence re-established its hold on the five minds present � until a knock on the door leading to reception outside shattered the spell. Five heads whipped around as though yanked by a common cord, and five hearts leaped together.

It was not, however, the long-hoped-for arrival of a rescued Press Secretary... or even a member of the strategic force that planned her liberation. Five postures sagged in eloquent disappointment as Mrs. Landingham and Margaret entered.

If they noticed such a lack of enthusiasm on their behalf, neither woman reacted to it. They both knew the constant strain of a long and fruitless wait themselves, and they knew more than a few methods to alleviate the worst of it. The presidential secretary carried a tray piled high with sandwiches; the secretary to the White House Chief of Staff followed with coffee, cream, sugar, mugs and spoons.

No one spoke as they moved quietly into the middle of the room.

"Um... we thought you might like some kind of break," Margaret volunteered. She hesitated, a bit flustered at the persistent stillness, then set her tray down carefully on a side table.

She straightened, to confront five strangely inarticulate men. All of them were staring at the food in mute confusion, as if they had no idea at all what to do with it � or else at the two secretaries, as if they had no idea what to do with _them_.

"I mean, you've all been waiting here for hours, and there's no telling when..." She fumbled for a moment, then swerved off that distressing track. "And I know Leo didn't stop for supper tonight, so it occurred to me that maybe..."

Margaret's words died yet again; she was perplexed by this total lack of appreciation for or even reaction to her thoughtful initiative. However overworked and frazzled by the demands of the job, usually their bosses _and_ their closest subordinates remembered the more basic manners. This almost creepy silence, and these blank looks, came close to unnerving her.

A light touch on one arm made her turn; a grim-faced Mrs. Landingham shook her head slightly. At this stage the mere concept of food was beyond the consciousness of these five individuals so anxiously awaiting such vital news.

Leo's assistant got the message. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to close in on _her_ , too. She retreated a step, as though having made an offering to a hungry lion � or a hard-to-please deity � and now wanting only to get away intact. "Anyway..." She raised both now-empty hands as an encouragement to take the gifts, not _her_ , and backed faster. "Here's some food."

Still no one moved. The two women took this blatant hint and hurried out the same way they came in, unable to disguise their eagerness to leave, not even waiting for the President to dismiss them. The door closed softly behind.

No one made any attempt to reach for the stacked sandwiches or the steaming coffeepot. A light snack in pleasant company had no place in their small, worried world.

The President shrugged, and started pacing all over again.

After a few more beats Leo rose with a shake of his head, murmured "Excuse me," and stepped out himself, in the opposite direction from which the food had been delivered.

Josh raised his bleary vision from the proffered meal... and fastened on Sam, who was likewise devoid of any appetite and had resumed his unknown jottings.

"Sam, what are you doing?" Technically that was an interrogative, but from Josh's flat tone the sentence could have ended with a period rather than a question mark.

His friend didn't glance up or, apparently, pause in his flow. "Preparing a statement, for when this is over," he stated levelly. It was, after all, his job... under both normal and abnormal circumstances.

Josh's emotions just couldn't handle any efforts at distraction, productivity or foresight right now. "We don't know _how_ this is gonna turn out yet! How the hell can you _write_ about it?"

His demand went even deeper, in fact: _How can you sit there so quietly and work, while CJ may be dying at this very moment?_

Sam still didn't look at him. "I'm being optimistic." He dashed off a few more words, seeming not the least bit doubtful that his optimism would eventually be rewarded. But then he ruined the image by adding, "And if I finish this before we _do_ know, I can always work on..." Now his pen did pause. "... _Other_ possible results."

Josh's features went slack, then scarlet, at the very thought of Sam drafting what would amount to CJ's epitaph. But before he could explode, the President cut in.

"Sam?" Both young men turned to where their boss stood, right in front of the presidential seal and directly between them. "Just so you know... I have no intention whatsoever of reading a negative statement, from you or anyone else."

They picked up on the subtext: Bartlet, too, was clinging to at least the illusion of a positive outlook.

Josh gradually sat back, wrestling with the pressure trapped inside his chest.

Sam almost � _almost_ � smiled. "Mr. President, you can only surmise how much I'm looking forward to tearing such a statement up."

  __

"Good." It never failed to impress people how much import their Chief Executive could pack into a single word.

Another pause elapsed as Sam returned to his writing... then he seemed to sense something else and raised his head again, eyebrows canted. Bartlet was still watching him, with a curiously calculating expression indeed.

"Sir?"

The President snapped back into himself. "Oh, never mind me. I'm just trying not to be too envious right now. My efforts at diversion today were... less than successful."

He wandered away from bothering his staff further, his purposeless course eventually taking him behind the desk. For several seconds he gazed upon the photo frames that adorned its polished surface... and then lifted his head decisively.

  __

"Charlie!"

Josh and Sam both twitched in their seats. Josh recovered and half-rose in the new hope that some action was about to be taken; Sam looked just a bit resentful of this sudden intrusion into his creative process.

That bellow was heard through the door and out into the office area beyond; moments later the President's personal aide stepped inside. "Sir?"

"You're sure that the Service has Zoey secured in her dorm?"

"Yes, sir. She'll be back in the Residence as soon as the lock-down is over."

Josh collapsed back down in his seat and buried his haggard face in both hands. Obviously this was not the subject he so wanted to hear discussed.

Bartlet released a deep breath of resignation. "As long as she's safe." He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling in silent, almost despairing supplication. "Thanks, Charlie."

His body man nodded and exited at once. He had no desire at all to remain in this steam bath of torturous emotion.

Leo reappeared and reclaimed his seat without any change to his resigned attitude, or any explanation to his President.

Bartlet halted to stare at him. "Leo, it never fails to amaze me how you can still manage to get things done even in the very worst of times." He spoke mostly in earnest, but with just the slightest lilt, a teasing nuance founded on forty years of friendship.

"Oh, I'm just trying to maintain that illusion," the Chief of Staff deadpanned perfectly. "Besides, Margaret can get entirely _too_ organized. Every now and then I like to move things around, unfile papers and _un_ organize things in general, just to keep her happy. And busy."

His leader snorted.

The advantage to small talk was that while it lasted it kept the silence at bay and the visions out of their heads... but no one had the energy required to drag out aimless conversation for hours on end. Now that ominous void roared back around them, as tangible as a genuine presence in the room. Pacing didn't help; there was simply no escape.

The President's next breath hissed out like a kettle boiling over � an apt comparison. "I should call Abbey."

Elbow on knees and hands running constantly through his tousled hair, Josh kept his eyes closed this time in pure frustration. "Well, sir, you _could_ do that... except that you've called her three times so far this evening, and where she is it's three in the morning."

There had been no deference in either the words or the inflection. Everyone else took note of that uncharacteristic fact.

Bartlet drew himself up and drew his brows down. He'd made a point of hiring people who weren't afraid to disagree with him; yes-men had no place in effective national politics. Josh was a first-rate scrapper. For once, however, he'd crossed the line. "Well, she's my source of support, and if I want to call on that support � even while it's at thirty thousand feet over the Atlantic � I know she won't begrudge me."

Josh glowered right back at him, enraged to the point of heedlessness, and accepted the call to battle. His voice sharpened to a razor's edge. "Well, I sure wish _I_ had that kind of support. But the person who supports _me_ is unable to come to the phone right now � she's either a hostage, or _dead_."

"That's _enough_ ," Leo interrupted decisively, before things could degenerate any further. With feelings this strained, a fistfight in the Oval Office was not beyond the realm of possibility. He glared at his deputy until sure the message had penetrated, and then leveled that very same look at his boss. "From _both_ of you."

Few people indeed would dare sit in this chamber and tell the President of the United States to back off. Even fewer would live to tell of it. Leo McGarry well knew his unique place among that privileged number, and he never hesitated to exploit it when necessary.

For several seconds, both men on the receiving end of that cold eye looked like two fractious kids hauled before the principal, rather than the second-highest-ranking staffer in the White House and the leader of the free world.

Bartlet nodded first, accepting the justice behind that reprimand. "You're right, Leo. As usual. I'm sorry, Josh."

Josh hung his head. "No, sir, I'm the one who should apologize," he barely managed to whisper. "I had no right to speak to you that way."

"Sure you did. I know � I mean, I can't _really_ know, but I have a good idea what CJ means to you."

"Thank you, sir, but that's still no excuse for my behavior." Josh's head sank lower, and his eyes squeezed shut tight against the threat of tears. "I just... can't bear to think that she may be..."

  __

"She's not dead."

Four heads rotated. That was the first time Toby had uttered a word since this nightmare vigil began so many hours ago. He still faced the window, but clearly he had not divorced himself so completely from the others as they thought.

His simple statement embodied the quiet force of absolute conviction. In fact, he could have addressed the terrorists themselves and proclaimed "Thou shalt not kill" with the very same solemn authority.

No one asked him aloud just how he could be so sure... although their vivid expressions did pose much the same question.

He did not choose to enlighten them. Even now, having brought himself to the center of attention at last, he refrained from any motion at all. Was he perhaps afraid that if he _did_ move, something inside of him would snap?

"She _can't_ be."

The soft buzz of the desk phone seemed as loud and jarring as the clang of a fire alarm. Every spine stiffened at once; every head spun around. Only a _very_ few people possessed that direct number, and many of them were present at that moment.

The President moved immediately to pick up, but he forced himself to take one deep, stabilizing breath first. This call _could_ be totally unconnected to the matter that was consuming them, but if it merited his personal attention, he'd have to deal with it.

"Yes."

No one moved � waiting, wondering, fearing.

Bartlet straightened promptly and shot his companions a fast look. " _Yes,_ Ron."

One of those very few individuals was, of course, the Secret Service coordinator working on the hostage crisis and the threatened White House Press Secretary.

Leo and Josh rose in unison; Sam shoved his work aside to stand with them. Even Toby left his isolated pose by the window and joined this half-circle around the executive desk. All four faces were taut. Ron was calling because he had all the information needed to make his report to his leader. Events had occurred and been resolved. This call held the news they so desired, complete and unabridged.

"You _did?_ " The President's face lit up. He looked around eagerly. "Guys, they nailed them! The terrorists are in custody!"

Four chests heaved an enormous sigh. Still, they didn't dare celebrate just yet.

"Any casualties?"

Four pairs of fists clenched. Here it came...

"Oh, that's _fantastic!_ Way to go!"

Josh weakly closed his eyes. Sam rolled his head sideways and then down. Toby ran a palm over his forehead. Leo nodded his approval at the successful operation. It was too soon for any of them to smile; the overriding relief was just too great.

"Well done, Ron. My personal gratitude to all involved. Good job!" Their Commander-in-Chief paused again. This situation had not been exclusively a White House matter; the welfare of everyone involved had to be considered equally. But he couldn't resist the driving need to ask one more thing: "So where's CJ Cregg right now?"

The four observers could picture Ron on the other end glancing around, and figured that if CJ weren't standing right next to him, she sure couldn't be far away.

And yet, the quiet lengthened...

The four listeners watched their boss's face like so many hawks, as the lingering tension � almost banished for good � crept back around their hearts again...

"What?" The President tensed as well, his eyes narrowing.

  __

"What?" This time his eyes widened.

Four jaws tightened.

Slowly, Bartlet lowered the receiver. Not to hang up, but because the latest information drained his arm of strength.

Even more slowly, he turned to his friends.

They stared back, gripped by near-terror. Where was she? Ron said there were no injuries. _What had happened?_

"All of the hostages are safe."

For some inexplicable reason, the President's voice was quiet and utterly devoid of triumph. Four men traded glances of confusion, and rising fear.

"Sir?" Leo finally pressed.

Bartlet shook his head, just once. "CJ's not among them."

Shocked silence.

  __

"What?" Josh cried first.

Their leader looked back at the phone in his hand, as though it was at fault for this news. No doubt Ron was still there, picking up the gist of this moment in the Oval Office, however faintly.

"The former prisoners have all been questioned. All of them know CJ, at least on sight. And all insist they never saw her anytime today."

Another silence, even more shocked than the last.

Leo got the point first. "My God..."

Sam was right behind him. "She was never there in the first place."

  __

"Where is she?" Josh came very close to screaming that time.

Five heads rotated from face to face, only slowly grasping what this meant. They were back to square one, and had _no idea_ what to do now.

Toby put it into words. Quietly, horribly, finally. "So she's been missing for at least twenty hours."

~*~*~*~*~


	3. Sonata in C MaJor 3

**Sonata in C MaJor**

**by: SheilaVR**

**Character(s):** CJ  
**Category(s):** General  
**Rating:** MATURE  
**Disclaimer:** Warmest thanks to Aaron Sorkin, Warner Bros., NBC, et al for graciously allowing us to expand upon their patented creation at no extra charge.  
**Summary:** CJ disappears without a trace...   
**Spoiler:** After "Galileo".  


* * *

***

**Interlude I**

Oooohhh... hurts... head... _walking to car_... needgogym... missed yesterday... last week, too... _somethingsomeone behind me_... too paranoid... apartment's safe... _flybite_?... hate flies... sting's gonna itch... wait... strange... _tiltingfalling_... _car engine_... must've dreamed it... alarm's gonna go off soon... _motion_... hmmm... felt real... different... _carried_... carried � where?... _scented candles_... don't burn candles... usually... need to get up... need to _wake_ up... got to get to work... God I feel awful... not hung over... came straight home... am I sick?... flu?... don't need this... no time for sick... too much to do... so exhausted... maybe come home early today... did I oversleep?... ruin my perfect reputation... don't want to get up... call in sick?... no... White House... kinda important... _let me go!..._ never felt like this before... head... dull ache... nausea... bad taste... did I get sick last night?... really weird dream... walk to car, like every day... sting... did something sting me?... pressure around my arms... _what are you doing to me?_... someone holding me... world tilting away from me... faint?... someone catch me?... need coffee... lotslotslots... feel... dead... arm hurts... did I twist it sleep on it?... okay... opening eyes... lightdarklight... too bright... left the lights on?... never do that... who moved lamp?... am I on the floor?... doesn't look right... can't move head... something is wrong... come on, head, _move_...

"I'm glad to see you're finally awake. I was starting to worry."

What? _Who?_

"Don't try to move too much. You need time to recover."

OhmygodnothomenotalonenotinmyroomnotinmybednotanyoneIknow _WHATHAPPENED?_

"But don't panic; you'll be fine by morning."

Whoareyou?What'sgoingon?HaveIbeenkidnapped?... he sounds nice, considerate... rescued me?... was I in an accident?... how did I get here?... sorta see now... he's sitting besides me... like a hospital... _not_ a hospital... never seen him before... still blurry... can't move... too dizzy...

"That's it; everything's all right. I'm here for you."

Makes no sense... who?... who... whowho...

"H...who...rr...oo?"

That was me?... what's wrong with me...

"Sounds like you could use a drink. Let me get you some water. Your mouth must be so dry."

He's movingmoving... what's he doing?... can't see... hear glass... water pouring... _water_... thank you... motion... movement... the bed?... _ME_... I'm moving... he's touching me... moving me... sit up to drink... can barely swallow... so weak...

"I'm really sorry for your discomfort, Claudia."

What?... _Claudia_... no one calls me that... don't like it... why is he sorry?... see him better now... vision clearing... not handsome, but not terribly plain... dark hair... green eyes... friendly smile...

"I wasn't sure how much of the drug to give you. I sure didn't want to hurt you with an overdose, but it was necessary. I had to surprise you, and I had to hold you until it took effect. I didn't want you to be afraid. But don't worry. You're safe now. I'll take care of you."

Touching my hair... trying to comfort me?... drug... surprised me... held me... took effect...

That dream was real.

Oh, _shit_.

*****

Keep breathing. Breathe.

"Where am I...?"

"Our new home."

Home? _HOME?!_

"Who... are you?"

He chuckles pleasantly enough. "I'm sorry we haven't officially met before now. I'm Paul. I apologize again for the bizarre circumstances under which we're meeting, but I'm comforted by the fact that we have the rest of our lives for me to make it up to you."

  __

Our lives? I don't know you. I don't want to stay with you. Please, no...

  __

Breathe. Don't panic...

"What... talking about..."

No, no, don't get closer...

"Claudia, I fell in love with you from the first time I saw you on TV. Right then I knew we were destined to be together always."

You love me? You watch my press releases and you think you _love_ me?

Together? _Always?_

Good Lord, you're obsessed.

But � that makes no sense. Why would you want to be obsessed with _me?_ I'm just a normal person. I'm not special...

Oh, my God. You aren't sane... Are you?

I feel sick... please get me away from here...

What is going to happen to me now?

  __

Nono...

"No..."

"Not to worry, sweetheart. You're perfectly safe here."

Quit smiling at me...

"And you'll be feeling fine before much longer. You've only been out for twelve hours or so, that's all."

  __

Walking to my car this morning... So it's the same day... Tuesday...

"What..." slowly, clearly "...did you use... to..."

What will it _do_ to me?

"Oh, it's just sodium pentothal. The hospitals use it for a fast-acting sedative. It'll wear off soon enough."

No side-effects? We hope...

"You should rest some more. I'm going to fix you a little something. I'll just be in the next room, so don't worry about a thing. If you need me, I'll come at once."

He gets up, and I can't see him anymore. But I can hear his footsteps drift away...

Where am I? How far from Washington? Hours at least...

Who is he? An escaped psychopath? Or one who was never caught?

Why does he want me here? To live with him from now on?

That means he won't be calling anyone about a ransom...

Is anyone looking for me? Does anyone know I'm gone? What's happening right now?

My family... my friends... the White House!

But I'm alone... except for this nutcase who thinks he loves me...

The room... looks like a log cabin or something... rustic, but tasteful... soft candles... four-poster bed... At least he wants me to be comfortable... comfortable enough to stay here willingly for the rest of my life?

My head still aches... what did that drug do to me? So heavy... but at least I can move my hands a bit now... soft duvet... satin...

Wait � not my suit � _not my clothes_ �

This is a satin sleeping-gown... and I didn't put it on myself...

  __

What has he done to me? What does he _plan_ to do to me?

God, I just lay here helpless while he �

Feels like... yes, my underwear is intact at least... What does this guy think he is � a doctor? Either way, he's certifiable!

I can't defend myself _at all!_

Now I know what fear tastes like.

*****

Door opening... he's coming back... _someone please help me..._

"Here, Claudia! A little light supper to help you recover and keep up your strength."

I can smell hot food... soup? Don't know if I can eat... my stomach...

What are you doing? Don't touch me!... propping me up? I think it scares me more that you're so gentle with me... Guess I can't eat any other way... Now I can see more... but still so tired...

"You still feel kinda worn out, huh? That's okay; I'll feed you. We'll eat together. This'll be good."

Please don't sit so close...

A bowl of creamy soup, and a plate... carrots, mashed potatoes, steaming... all on a bed-tray across my waist. Even a flower in a small vase... You're eating with me?

I can't do this... I can't sit here like this and eat with you... this is too... too intimate... No, don't feed me... You lean forward too far when you bring the spoon to my mouth... Could this be drugged? But you're eating it, too. How sane are you? Are you killing us both? No... please don't smile at me...

I should refuse � don't want anything _you_ make!

If I stage a hunger strike, will you let me go?

Not likely. You're insane.

Besides, I need my strength. Got to get this drug out of my system...

"Please don't be afraid, Claudia. I won't hurt you, I promise. I'd never do anything to harm you, _ever_."

I don't think I can help flinching... you're slowly getting closer... do you even realize it?

Do you even know how truly weak I am? What are you thinking right now?

The soup isn't bad... I just hope I can keep it down...

"Good, huh? Made it myself. I've been practicing for awhile now. Oh, Claudia, wait 'til you see what I have planned for us!"

No... wait... hold on...

"My... my name is CJ." I can barely even hear myself.

"Oh, I don't want to pervert your real, God-given name."

Parent-given, anyway, and I've never liked it. There are only a few people who ever get away with using it...

"I prefer CJ."

"That's only because everyone else has always called you that. You're used to it. But it's not right. And they've never seen you as you really are. They always forced you to repress your true self. Well, _I_ never will. You're free now, Claudia. Absolutely free, like you can't even imagine yet!"

Free? Free... free to do whatever I like. _Except leave._

"So, how are you feeling now?"

Assaulted, drugged, terrified... what should I say? How careful do I have to be around you?

My body does seem to appreciate the food... now it begs for sleep...

"Better. A bit."

"That's great! Here, eat some more. I've got recipes that you're gonna _love_. By morning, after a good night's sleep, you'll be a lot stronger, don't worry."

I'm an invalid _and_ a victim... what's going to happen tomorrow?

"I know you're tired, but do you hurt anywhere? I tried to be so careful with you, but I might have accidentally knocked you around a little getting you in and out of the car. I've got some aspirin here � "

"No." No, no, I'm afraid to take anything of yours. But what is that look on your face? Is it concern? Or are you becoming upset? Did I answer too quickly? "Th... thanks."

"Oh, you're more than welcome! It's totally my pleasure! Anything I can do to make you feel good here."

I don't even want to be here!

I need to know... "Where am I?"

"I told you � you're home."

"This... isn't my home."

"It is now."

Oh, God. No, don't panic. Try again. "Where are we?"

"Oh, it's the most beautiful spot in the world. It was made just for the two of us. You're going to absolutely love it."

Please don't avoid the question. I _need_ to know! "And where is _that?_ "

"You'll see."

Oh, Lord...I've been out almost the entire day � we could be anywhere from Atlanta to Toronto! I don't even have the first clue which direction to run...

I really hate to ask this... "How did you... get me here?"

"I picked you up at your place this morning and drove you here."

  __

Picked me up? You make it sound like we had a _date!_

Fly-bite... pressure around my arms... world tilting... car engine... motion... carried...

You injected me from behind, held me so I couldn't struggle before I passed out, stuffed me in a car and spirited me away to � _where?_

I'm so scared... is any of this showing on my face? Can you tell that I am repulsed by you? Keep talking, keep going. Hide in the conversation... _Think._ I work in communications, after all...

"Will you... tell me about this new home?"

" _Sure!_ Just you wait until you see it! It's utopia. It's paradise. It's so perfect a spot to live. And there's no one else around at all. We've got all the privacy we could want."

Noooo... _Please_ be exaggerating...

"I designed this cabin myself. Just for you. Isn't it lovely?"

"Yes... very nice." Can you hear my whisper? Do you believe me?

"I didn't want it to look too much like a city house � that's what we're getting away from. Back to nature, that's us. But we've got all the modern comforts. Nothing but the best for you, my dear."

Like Adam and Eve? Oh, nononononononono....

"I looked around for ages until I found just the right spot. And I had you in mind the whole time. I kept saying to myself, 'What would Claudia want?' "

How have you considered what _I_ want? Do you really think that this is going to make me happy? Do you have any sanity left for me to appeal to? Okay, stop it. No panicking � I've got to think. Okay. You've got an American dialect. You've been stalking me for _months_. And there just aren't that many rural areas in this region of the U.S. anymore. So we couldn't be more than a day's drive from Washington. Maybe.

Careful on the wording of this one... "Some people... will wonder where I am."

"Oh, not to worry. They'll soon forget all about you. And besides, they're not important anymore. We're in our own private world now. Nothing else matters."

Forget about me, just like that? My family, my close friends, the President of the United States � they're all going to glance around, wonder for a moment where I am, and then shrug and get on with their lives? Not if I'm so damn special that you had to commit a crime to get me here...

What did you do, back at my place? Did you try to make it look like I took a trip? Did you phone the White House yourself and say I was off sick today?

Even so, they'll be looking for me eventually. Maybe even right now. Oh, God, I hope so. _Please_ let it be so...

"And Claudia, we're going to be so happy here. We have absolutely everything we need: peace, quiet, privacy, all the creature comforts we could want � and each other. Just think of it: the rest of our lives in this slice of heaven! Our home, our children � "

  __

"Children!"

No, not _that!_ Children with _you?_ That would mean �

"Or, perhaps not. At least we don't have to anytime soon. Only if you want them too. The important thing is for you to be happy. Still... what a joy it would be to see our children grow up here, safe from evil..."

Don't focus on the children thing. Don't even think about it.

"The... evil? What evil?"

"The evil of society!" Oh, God, no � don't lean in any closer to me... please sit back... what is that look in your eyes? You are terrifying me � where is this passion coming from? There it is � I can finally see it... utter and complete lunacy in your eyes. You really _believe_ this. "Society is corrupt. It warps innocent minds that should be free of such unnecessary and damaging restrictions. The only way to be _truly_ happy is to get away from society altogether. And we have! This is a place of eternal beauty, safety and happiness. Trust me, Claudia, this is the _best_ thing that can _ever_ happen to you. This is the ultimate gift anyone can possibly give another!"

I can feel your breath on my face in between your words... please sit back... why are you looking at me like that? What are you seeing? Are you going to... no, no, don't bring your face any closer, please... Okay, you are collecting yourself... so you do have some semblance of self-control... Look away... good...

"Well, you had a good meal. Don't worry � I'll wash up." Yes, go away; leave me alone! "Is there anything else you want? A shower? Even a trip to the bathroom? I know you're feeling weak still, but I can help..."

Oh, please God, no... The mere thought of you washing me �

"I'm fine." Please don't hear the terror in my voice...

"All right. If you _do_ need anything, just call me. Why don't you get some sleep?"

No � don't tell me you're planning to sleep in here � _no �_

"I know all this still takes some getting used to, and you're still feeling somewhat off, so I'll sleep in the living room. You can even lock the door here if you want. I don't mind."

Oh, thank God... I want that door locked _so badly!_

No, _don't_ come any closer, I know what you have in mind, _don't_ kiss me �

"Sleep well, Claudia. This is the first day of your wonderful new life."

  __

Go away! I never want to _see_ you again...

"...Night."

"Good night, my love."

Deep shuddering exhalation as the door closes behind him...

Okay. First, lock the door. Then, the washroom. But can I even stand?

It's like every bone in my body was made of lead.

Whoa... dizzy... been lying down too long... there, it's passing...

All right, one leg over. Now the other. Hold onto the poster. Take the weight gradually. Good. Now, one step at a time. _Slowly._ One step... another... another... this drug has made me uncomfortable in my own body � at least by tomorrow I'll be able to handle events myself...

Whew. Who'd have thought just crossing a room could feel like such a victory? And the door lock looks pretty strong. Of course, if he decides to break in during the night �

Stop. Don't even _think_ about it. Onward. One step. Two.

Wow; this place is _huge_. Look at that sunken tub... Oh, no; I can just see what he has in mind... not that...

Forget about it for now. Nothing you can do... 

  __

Water... amazing how good it can taste. Not too fast... I'm breathing too hard; I can't choke. 

Now the long journey back... Oops, I'm staggering � and if I fall, I doubt I'll be able to get up... Hate the thought of sleeping in his bed, but that's better than on the floor...

  __

Made it.

This is my worst nightmare. Stories like these are told to small children to get them to behave. I've been kidnapped. I'm trapped here, and I don't even know where _here_ is, completely at his mercy. He honestly believes that we're going to live here happily ever after.

What about my friends? Have they missed me? Are they looking for me? Do they have the first idea _where_ to look? Did he call them? Would they _believe_ him? Surely not; not some unknown saying that I need some time off or that I'm sick... The only person they would even _remotely_ believe...

Oh, Danny... I'm sorry for hurting you...

No, I don't want to cry. This will not help. I can't make any noise... But I'm so scared...

Guys, please hear me. You've _got_ to hear me somehow. _Please_ hear me. I need you...

*****

Morning. Feels late. Did I forget to set my alarm or something? I _never_ do that! I have a reputation to uphold in the White House, after all �

Wait. This isn't my room...

Paul.

This is real...

I can't believe I actually slept. But between the exhaustion and the drug he used I must've just about short-circuited.

It's a new day. I've been missing for twenty-four hours. Surely someone's noticed by this stage.

Their concern is bad enough, but when you factor in the power some of them wield...

Not many people get to have the President of the United States worry over them personally. And no one can instigate a search like _he_ can. They _will_ find me.

But in the meantime...

At least I feel a lot more human now. Weak, still, but my muscles are obeying. What a relief. Now to face this totally unreal day � and the man on the other side of that door.

First off: a shower. God, I hate the very idea of making myself even _more_ vulnerable, even with the door locked, but I sure don't feel _clean_. It'll ease my mind a bit if nothing else.

Looks like all the necessities are here: this guy must have lived with a woman before. Hmm � I'm not sure if I want to know where she is now...

Hey, I didn't notice the patio doors before. Right out onto a garden, completely enclosed for the winter. Damn, he really plans. All the amenities a person could want, and even a few ornaments thrown in for good measure �

Oh, no. He _had_ to get flamingos. Typical, cliché, plastic pink flamingos.

He just _couldn't_ know how sickeningly ironic that is...

And beyond that... forest. I'm stuck in the middle of a snowy wilderness. So much for making a break for it. Even if the doors and windows aren't locked, there's just nowhere to go.

The water is gloriously hot. Thank God for that. My mind is clearing even faster. How much longer is this going to last? There must be some kind of search going on by now. On the rare occasion that I do get sick, I'm in constant contact with the White House, usually to settle disputes between Josh and Toby. No, they have to know that I'm truly AWOL. And they'll never be able to keep it under wraps, either.

The President will have his people tear the hills apart looking for me. Now that's a level of enthusiasm that almost no other captive would be granted! Perhaps it's not so bad after all that I was chosen, rather than some poor anonymous woman without such an impressive and _vital_ connection. That magnitude of a search will surely find me before anything... happens...

And it's also a very good thing that I'm just an employee of the President � not a member of his family. He'll be able to think much more rationally. Then too, why would anyone kidnap a staff member to use as leverage against the White House? No, they'll figure out soon enough that there's a totally different reason...

... That a certified nutcase believes he loves me.

I have no idea how to approach this entire situation. If I'm pleasant with him, will he see that as an invitation? If I flatly refuse to cooperate, what will he do? Would he hurt me?

I'll have to take this one step at a time. See what's likely to set him off. Get to know him � just a _little_. No more than _absolutely_ necessary. Get as much info about him as I can, without seeming to show the wrong kind of interest. That'll be tricky.

Soft towels... _much_ better. Now, for my clothes... hey, where are they? Did he actually _take_ my suit? Maybe he hung it up for me, in one of these closets...

My soul in heaven... _Look_ at all these clothes! He must have _thousands_ of dollars in dresses here! And a lot of them would fit into a state dinner perfectly. What is he thinking � that we'll be entertaining dignitaries in the middle of nowhere...?

Uh-oh. I think I can guess what he has in mind... and I don't like it... they're far too sexy for my liking at the best of times, let alone here!

These dresses, the skirts, the shoes... they're all in the correct sizes... Are all of these drawers filled with undergarments that will also fit? I can't look just yet; that's too much. And I am _not_ wearing lingerie that he's handled!

How? How long have I been ignorantly going about a normal life while he was just around the corner, watching everything I do, everything I say, everything I _buy_?

He _knows_ me. Far too well.

No sign of my suit anywhere. Well, I'm sure not going out in this nightgown, so I guess I don't have any choice. Still, there's _got_ to be something here more appropriate for breakfast in the mountains. Boy, he didn't provide much in casual fashion at all... Offhand, I'd say this angora sweater and skirt are about the least provocative items I'm going to find.

There. I suppose I'm as ready to face the day, and Paul, as I'm ever going to be. No point in putting off the inevitable. Although a part of me just quails at the thought of looking him in the eye.

He did say he doesn't want to hurt me, that he just wants the best for me � his version of the best, that is...

If only he weren't so obviously unbalanced, I could deal with him no problem. I've handled men the size of mountains without flinching. Of course I was never afraid that they would _kill_ me.

I can't stay in here forever with the door locked; I'd never get any information about how to escape, I'd risk seriously upsetting him and possibly endangering my life, and if not, I'd eventually starve. Not good options. Clearly there's no escape from this room, so if I'm going to get out of here, I have to go out there and start looking for opportunities. Which means... I have to face him.

So here goes.

There has got to be some way that I could get a message to my friends. They're among the most powerful men in the country, after all. If only they knew where to find me...

Danny? Josh? Toby? Come on, guys, I need you... Oh, if only you could hear me...

*****

I never would have believed it could take so much effort to open a door. I don't want to at all... but I must.

"Claudia! Good morning!"

Okay, don't run, don't flinch. I simply _have_ to face you � no matter how much you scare me...

No � not a good-morning kiss... Okay, on the cheek, but not the hug! I don't want you to even touch me!

"I knew you usually get up early." You do? Oh, of course; you've been watching me for ages... "I heard the water running, so I made your breakfast. Come and sit down! Enjoy!"

"Thanks." Careful; keep it as neutral as I can. Businesslike.

The table looks nice, the food looks wholesome, if plain. And you even hold the chair for me. Is there a chance that I am grossly overreacting? 

This place is really rather pleasant. Pure country comfort, not too much décor. A full kitchen, from the looks of it. TV and stereo, too. And of course the ultra-modern bath. I just wish with all my heart that I wasn't _forced_ to stay here.

"Did you sleep well?"

What should I say? Lie and pretend that I like it here? Or tell the truth and risk getting you angry at me? Better take the middle road until I know more... "Well enough."

"Great! Don't worry; I'll make the effort to match your early schedule until we develop a mutual timing. After all, we'll both have lots of opportunities to sleep in..."

Oh, God, that look of yours... Are you leering at me? I feel sick again.

"But that can wait until you're fully settled in. I had the foresight to build two bathrooms and closets into this place; I didn't want to pressure you at the start."

And just what can I expect after you decide that we're _past_ the start?

"You look great. I was sure that sweater would suit you, and I was right!"

"Thanks." Should I stay on this topic? It makes me so uncomfortable... Well, better take the plunge at some point. "Speaking of suits, where did you put mine? I didn't see it anywhere."

"Oh, that old thing? I burned it yesterday."

  __

"What?"

Calm down... don't get him going... He _burned_ it?

"Sure. It was a symbol of your old life. So I severed the ties for you. You'll never need it again, anyway. I got you lots of stuff to wear instead!"

Calm... "Yes... I saw. Thank you." You're mad. Utterly mad.

What am I going to _do?_

I need another neutral topic � before I panic completely...

"What's the weather like today?" Oh, for mercy's sake, CJ, is that the best you can do?

"Still snowing a bit, which is good. I chose yesterday for a reason: I wanted a snowy day to cover our tracks. This'll also seal us in for the getting-to-know-you stage."

That smile of yours... I'm struggling not to shiver. Try something else.

"I saw the garden."

"Right! That's a touch I'm really proud of. We don't want to have to make a lot of grocery runs; in fact I don't want to be away from you at all. This way, in the spring you can plant all the vegetables we need and all the flowers you want."

You want _me_ to tend a _GARDEN_?

"I can see it now: you out there in the summer sun, surrounded by roses..."

Give me a break!

And I can do without that idyllic gleam in your eyes, too...

"You know, I still can't get over it. I've loved you so long from afar � and now, at long last, you're finally _here!_ "

How I wish I wasn't... But I'd better go along. I need information.

"How long have you been... interested in me?"

"I'm... not sure anymore. It seems forever. The first time I saw you on TV, I knew we were right for each other. You're so beautiful, so intelligent, so businesslike..."

You fell in love with an image on the screen, not _me_!

"I wondered for ages how I should best approach you. I thought about making an appointment at your work, or just showing up at your home... but nothing felt right." Pause. "And then, last May � you could have _died!_ And I knew I couldn't wait any longer. I had to get you to safety."

"Safety?" _This_ is safer?

"Absolutely! It's the evil of government that prompts people to strike out at it, and it's the corruption of society that permits such violence _and_ such government. And yet you were content to keep working for that institution anyway. I knew then that I had to get you away from it. You were just too accustomed to trusting the establishment � and you didn't even see how miserable it was making your life. You never looked happy. Like most citizens, you've been brainwashed by society. You have to be completely removed from it in order to heal. I planned yesterday morning to be as painless as possible. I knew you'd forgive me, and love me, once you realized the truth."

My God, you actually _believe_ that.

"Say, while we're at it, tell me about the President."

Why � so you can plan an assassination?

Play along... "What do you want to know?"

"It must be neat that you've met him. He seems like a decent enough guy... still, I can't trust him. He's in charge of this whole diseased society."

"He's doing his level best to fix that!" Whoa, girl � never argue with a lunatic. But I can't help myself. I don't take kindly to insults aimed at my friends _or_ my leader.

"He's going about it the wrong way. There's no salvation in politics. You can't change people like that. Your only hope is to get away from the whole thing."

  __

Don't retaliate � don't bait him �

"I guess the President wants to _help_ others, not _abandon_ them."

  __

So much for that resolution...

"Then it's a good thing I got you away from him before he led you into the line of fire again, huh?"

  __

Don't answer. Keep your blood pressure down. It'll only get him mad.

"You know, I still don't know much about _you_." Actually, I know nothing at all. Nor do I _want_ to know you. But it'll get the conversation off me and onto you: your roots, your childhood, how long you've "known" me... And if I can give the Feds some details, after I escape �

"Oh, don't worry. We have the rest of our lives to remedy _that_."

Don't think... just talk...

"Still, I'd like to know. You already know a lot about me. That's not entirely fair, is it?" Easy, girl; keep it playful.

"All in good time. I'd much rather talk about you. And then, when you're done eating, I have a surprise for you."

No, no � not _another_ surprise! I don't even want to _imagine_ �

Easy; must keep the fear out of my voice. Can't let on how scared I am. No telling what you'll do if you knew that!

"What... kind of surprise?" Did I hear my teeth chatter that time?

Please stop smiling at me. I don't know whether to be relieved or afraid.

"Well, I should think you deserve a tour of your new home."

Did you hear me release the breath I'd been holding? Surely I can survive a tour... I hope...

And a tour will give me a lot of information. Maybe even enough to get myself out of this.

"I'd � like that."

*****

"Try this coat on for size. I didn't stock up on a lot of winter gear, since we'll be staying inside most of the time � but I don't want you to catch a chill, of course."

Of course. "It's fine."

"All right, my queen. Let me introduce you to your new realm."

It's chilly out � but what do you expect when the snow's still falling? And this is not the flat country around DC; I can see rolling hills in the distance. Where _are_ we � Virginia? _West_ Virginia? There are trees everywhere. And not one sign or sound of civilization... except for us.

"So, what do you think?"

The cabin is fairly large, but its log construction looks a lot less modern than it is inside. It also blends into the trees better than I'd like...

"It's lovely."

"Yeah! And it's fully self-sufficient, too! We pump our water up from the lake, I've got a gas-powered generator for electricity, and the stove provides all the heat we could want. No one's gonna bother us with utility bills and inspections, I promise you!"

Damn.

"Yep, we'll be totally free from society and relying on no one but ourselves! Isn't this so wonderful? Even the road in is rough; no one'll wander down it just for kicks, even if they have four-wheel drive like me."

So now I know that some rough roads lie between me and the outside world... and that the chances of someone dropping by even by accident are just about nonexistent. Terrific.

Of course, you planned it this way...

"Come on! You've got to see this!"

Where are we going now? A distinct slope downhill, but I can't see through the trees � hold on: a lake? Is that what he's showing me?

Yes, it is. Not a big one at all. Maybe one mile square at the most, and completely frozen over. And there's not another cottage in sight.

"What do you think, Claudia? Isn't it the most beautiful spot on earth?"

Watch the sarcasm. "Yes. Lovely."

"It's absolutely perfect! Spring-fed. Small and intimate. No one else lives anywhere near it. In fact, hardly anyone even knows it exists. It's just too small for most people to consider valuable. And that's what I've been saying � folks are corrupted by society. Something has to be _big_ before it's worth anything. Well, that's just too bad; due to their shortsightedness all of them are missing out on the road to paradise."

What are you _talking_ about?

"What do you mean?"

"This lake is the center of the universe! It's _sacred_. It's so spiritual you can _sense_ it. It's eternity on earth. It's where you and I will spend the rest of our lives... and where we'll go when we die. It's _perfection_."

Wait � when we die? What is that supposed to mean? You figure we're going to live here to old age, and then commit suicide together so that we can share eternity in this lake?

Or � are you planning to kill me at some point and entomb me here, so that I'll never be found... and I'll always "belong" to you?

I don't know which possibility terrifies me more...

"Yes, Claudia, it's true. You've finally come home."

You've got that passionately crazy look again... Don't stare at me like that... I don't know what to do... Are you expecting me to say something? No, _don't_ reach for me... _Please_ don't pull me closer... I can't help but turn away... Please don't get angry... I turn to the side and lock my gaze back on the lake... I can feel your arm slipping around my waist as we stand, side by side, looking into a future horror... 

There's a cold knot in my stomach, and not just because of this future you're painting.

What will come _next?_ Will you always let me turn away from you?

You keep saying you'll never harm me, but do you even define harm the way I do? I'm less and less sure of that now, what with this idea about the lake... Your view of death is very different; I can see that now... Are pain and death even related in your twisted brain?

Guys, I'm begging you: don't let this happen. Don't leave me here to share a meaningless life with this psycho � for _any_ length of time.

Wait � a plane! Almost directly overhead! Maybe they're looking for me!

"Oh, don't worry, Claudia. That's just a shuttle flight. They pass over now and then, but they won't intrude on our privacy any."

It's gone. Not looking for me. Not even aware that I need help.

And the silence and the isolation are complete.

All right, then � if I'm going to get out of here, I'd better not rely on anyone else happening along by accident.

"Come on, let's go back. Don't want you to overdo it on your first day, do we?"

Back uphill. Come to think of it, if this slope continues very far past the house, it must reach a pretty high point. Maybe I can rig some kind of signal from there... Hmm...

*****

"Claudia, I want you to do something for me."

You _do?_

I can't imagine _anything_ that wouldn't be terrifying.

"I want you to make a list of anything you need or want that I haven't already got for you. I'll go get them at once."

  __

Huge exhalation... weak with relief.

"You know... foods you like best, maybe brand name soap, or whatever. Anything at all. This is your home, and it's gonna be perfect."

It's _not_ my home, and it _could not_ be perfect! Still, it's decent of you to offer. It makes me wonder what you were like before you went crazy...

This also means that you'll be out of the cabin for awhile. I'll be free to look for an escape!

"Thanks. I'll do that."

Now I need to think of things that'll be hard to find. Anything to keep him away as long as possible. I need time to come up with a way out of here. On the other hand, I shouldn't make it _too_ hard for him; I still don't know what kind of temper he has.

I doubt he wants to travel far, so there must be a fair-sized town with decent shopping not too many miles away. If only I knew where it was, I'd hike through a blizzard if I had to!

Actually, he's provided for almost all of our needs already. This guy knows how to live in isolation. Wonder what pushed him over the edge in the first place? He really is a pitiful man. Under less threatening circumstances, he could be downright kind.

Yeah, I can think of a few small things I'd eventually need � wait a _minute!_ I am _not_ going to be here long enough to need such luxuries! I am going to get _out_ of this mess, whether I can signal someone or whether I have to walk out on my own. I am not spending one more hour as this lunatic's trophy than I absolutely must!

Just get him on his way so that I can move about. Let him think I'm settling in for good.

"Here you are. It's not long."

"Thanks, Claudia! I don't mind at all; anything for you, dear." Don't call me that! "Okay, I won't be more than a few hours, unless the roads are really bad. You just make yourself comfortable until then. I'll hurry; I have big plans for us tonight."

Oh, my God, I can just see what you're thinking...

How the hell can I hope to get out of _that?_ Only by being gone before you get back.

"See you later."

Oh, please, not a good-bye kiss �

"Be right back, my love."

Go on. _Leave!_

At last. Bolt the door after him, lean against it, and heave an enormous sigh. I'm alone again. Truly alone. Free from him.

Well, except for all this snow on every side... and I doubt he provided the clothes for an arctic expedition. But maybe there's another vehicle, or something!

Or a phone �

I don't see one anywhere. What nutcase doesn't own a phone?

He does like a few modern touches. This home theater is impressive. So is his music collection... oh, no. Slow songs. Romantic songs. I don't see one CD here with anything _like_ a fast beat. He really does want to control the mood, doesn't he?

Damn � and the movie selection is no better. One romantic flick after another! I don't usually watch the action movies myself, but that'd be far better than these in _this_ atmosphere.

Hey, maybe I can get the news! You'd think the White House has launched some kind of search for me by now. They probably won't want a lot of publicity about it, but the press corps will notice a missing Press Secretary sooner or later. Besides, this total isolation is really hard on the nerves.

What � oh, don't tell me! There's no _cable!_ Paul must've planned it that way: movies only. Sure, he wouldn't want the news of social corruption to penetrate this utopia. Which means there's probably no radio around here either. Damn _IT!_

Now what do I do?

Keep looking.

Okay, this is the garage. Room for one car only; that's the one he's driving now. I wonder what happened to _my_ car? Did he leave it there at my home? No, wait � he wouldn't be able to drive his car into my complex without a key, and he couldn't have carried me out unnoticed. I'll just bet you anything he took my keys and drove us out in my car.

And now it's gone. Well, of _course_ my car is gone. He's taken my freedom, my job, my friends, my _clothes_ , my _NAME_... why stop at my car?

No snowmobile � not that I know how to drive one. No skis, not even snowshoes. Looks like I'm officially housebound.

Maybe if I found a way later to filch the keys to _his_ car... I should've taken a course in hot-wiring.

And this must be the den, his little sanctum, complete with the deer head mounted on the �

  __

GUN!

Okay, girl, calm down. Breathe. That's a hunting rifle, nothing more.

  __

Maybe so, but after Rosslyn I just can't think about firearms the same way.

You're perfectly safe; there's no one else here. And Paul's hardly going to use it on you anyway.

  __

Can I be sure about that? He does intend to dump us both in the lake, eventually...

Don't _think_ about it! Go on; keep checking the place out. You only have so much time.

  __

Laptop! Oh, yes � Internet. _Email._ I can send out a message and have them find me in no time. Email accounts are supposed to be confidential, but if the President can't get that information _no one_ can! Maybe the FBI or someone can trace the signal itself!

You know, there are times when it's advantageous working for the most powerful man in the world.

Come on, come on, will you boot up _now_ , please?

Huh? � What � is � this?

Oh... my God. That's me. The wallpaper on Paul's laptop is a picture of _me_.

I don't quite recognize the photo. Some formal event, but I couldn't tell you when I last wore that particular dress. It looks like a publicity shot � of the President, naturally; no one takes pictures of a Press Secretary at these events. Which means Paul zoomed in on me in the background and then cropped everyone else out...

  __

Or could he have actually been there himself, stalking me even then?

Nah, no way he'd get past White House security. What explanation could he possibly give?

  __

I don't know... God, what a horrifying thought, that not even the Secret Service can keep him away from me...

Yes, that looks like the wall of the Mural Room behind me. And that tuft of hair where a man's head had been � was that Josh standing beside me at the time?

Dammit, Josh, where _ARE_ you? Get me _out_ of here!

Breathe. Concentrate. Get the mail out. That's your lifeline right now.

For Internet access, click here... I hate these glidepoint mice...

No. No, no, no. Don't _do_ this to me �

_Password protected._

Oh God, I haven't the first idea how to hack into a computer.

I've got to try. What on earth would he use as a password? Something about me? My name? No. My street? No. My job? No... hell, I have no idea. How clever are you, you little bastard? This is ridiculous. Think... _DAMN IT!_

I can't get in. I can't Email out. I can't contact anyone.

I'm stuck here. Alone.

At least, until he comes back...

So what do I do? Do I make a run for it? Hell, I wasn't a Girl Scout even when I was young enough to be one, and the only snow I've experienced has been through layers of expensive ski gear.

He said it would take _hours_ to run a simple errand. The next town might be a hundred miles away... It's started snowing pretty heavily again... What would be worse? Dying of exposure, or attending my 'date' tonight?

I don't want to cry. But I am just so frustrated. Here is my door to rescue, right in front of me, and I _can't open it!_

~*~*~*~*~


	4. Sonata in C MaJor 4

**Sonata in C MaJor**

**by: SheilaVR**

**Character(s):** CJ  
**Category(s):** General  
**Rating:** MATURE  
**Disclaimer:** Warmest thanks to Aaron Sorkin, Warner Bros., NBC, et al for graciously allowing us to expand upon their patented creation at no extra charge.  
**Summary:** CJ disappears without a trace...   
**Spoiler:** After "Galileo".  


* * *

***

**Phase III: DC al Coda**

DC al Coda (Mus.): to return to the start and repeat to a specified point

I can't take this anymore. _I can't STAND it!_

Work. Phones. Meetings. People. I don't _care_. How can any of that matter?

Where is she? What happened to her yesterday? What's happening to her _right now?_

God, it's been more than a day... _anything_ could have happened. Anything at all...

Is she still alive?

Trapped somewhere? Does every second count now?

In pain? Bleeding?

A prisoner? But why her? And what will they do to her?

No � not that! _Anything_ but that!

If anyone so much as _touches_ her...

Better to kill her outright than...

I can't bear it. How can I think that?

She's got to live. She's got to be unharmed. She's _got_ to be!

But...

What if � she _is_ dead?

Maybe... all this time... somewhere, unnoticed... alone... before we even missed her...

We were just sitting around. We did _nothing!_

No... we were joking...

She's counting on us. On _me._

What can I do? Where can I look? I have to do _something!_ But _WHAT?_

I can't help her!

CJ, where _ARE_ you?

  ****

*****

Guilt is an extraordinary emotion, more powerful than can be imagined until you face it yourself. Each person deals with it in his or her own way.

Josh's office is some little distance from mine, but I can still hear him. I expect the entire West Wing can, for that matter. In another few minutes someone is going to show up with a straightjacket. He's stomping back and forth, pulling his hair out and raging to himself for not protecting CJ better. Guilt � and its close cousin, fear � has completely consumed him. I know he hasn't slept; none of us have, really. Unlike myself, I don't think he even feels the exhaustion. I've never seen him so worked up, so completely unhinged.

By contrast, I'm forcing myself to work. This is where _my_ guilt comes into play: I'm actually succeeding. Somehow, even with the noise down the hall and the fear that's hanging over every single head in this place, I can still lose myself in the art of writing. For a time, at least, I can blot out everything and get the job done. Just as Josh is compelled to pace and shout, I feel compelled to work. It forces time to pass. It gives purpose to this waiting period. It's far preferable to doing nothing at all. Not to mention the fact that I have no idea what else I _could_ do. Besides, even in the darkest crisis of the heart, we have a responsibility to the nation. We can't panic. We have to keep working.

Josh _is_ panicking. He's long since given up even pretending to _try_ to work. I've attempted to calm him down with optimism. I even tried to get his mind on a specific task, a professional challenge. It's another way of getting through the day. But then, not everyone functions the same way I do. My success in that effort was... predictable.

What is the source of my guilt? The fact that I failed to help him in any way, that I'm handling this better than he is, and that handling it better gives the impression that I don't care as much as he does.

Now no one _really_ knows what a person means to someone else. But if anyone had posed the question hypothetically � _How would you react if CJ were to vanish into thin air?_ � I know I'd never have been able to predict Josh's reaction.

God knows I don't want anything to happen to her. Obviously something _has_ happened, and we have absolutely no idea what, where, or when. But I have another worry on top of that one: what will happen to Josh if CJ doesn't come back.

*****

CJ will be all right. I'm certain of that. There's simply no other option. This world cannot possibly commit such a heinous crime against her.

  __

My God will not permit that to happen to her. _Especially_ not to her...

*****

She's going to kill me. I know it.

That, I can handle. It would mean that she's back, safe and sound and actually _able_ to get mad enough to kill.

At least we're free to go now. The lock-down ended early this morning. Everyone else in the corps has gone, and returned, and gone again. They've left me behind each time, to "mind the store."

The word at the last briefing is that CJ's sick. I shudder at how far that may be from the truth, and yet how close.

I know the inside story. I know what none of them have guessed yet. I know what a story it'll make. And I'm still sitting on it.

Toby asked for my silence. He didn't apologize, but none of us care about that now. The White House wants me on board for this. If a whisper gets around that someone else has finally put two and two together, I'll hear it first. I have no problem playing the stool pigeon to the media if it'll help hold the cover that much longer... if it'll help her in the _slightest_ way.

When the time does come, then I've got permission to break this story myself. When secrecy no longer matters, I'm going to get the truth out there at once, so that the whole nation can help us look. I'm going to plaster her name and face _everywhere_.

She's going to kill me for it.

I honestly don't care.

I can't get that moment in the Oval Office out of my mind. I walked out and left her. Sure, she turned me down, but I was the one who left. I was furious at her, at myself, at the President for literally coming between us like this... hell, I was mad at the whole world for letting me fall for a woman who can't get past her work to her heart.

Then I took it out on her. It was the most unfair thing I've ever done. If that had been any plane except Air Force One, I bet she would've smacked me. I just sat there and relished it. Turnabout is fair play, right?

Wrong. Not when you may never have the chance to put things right. Not when it's barely even odds that you can make up at least the friendship, if not the romance. Not when there's a very real possibility that you'll never see her again. Ever.

*****

No new information. I don't know why that surprises me; they're looking for one woman among several million, somewhere in the huge DC area and � before much longer � beyond that. Plus, they're doing it so discretely that the public hasn't gotten a single whiff yet. It's totally unreasonable for me to expect success so soon. We have no idea where to start. Right now we're just beating the bushes and hoping for a miracle.

The President's going to demand another progress report any minute now, and I honestly don't know what to tell him. That Danny's warned us that the top could blow completely off at any moment? That Carol looks paler every time she goes before the press, and that sooner or later she'll snap? That Josh is going insane right before our eyes? That Sam has buried himself in his work, ignoring absolutely everything else, and that Toby has withdrawn so tightly into himself that no one can get a word out of him? That none of them can be relied on any longer to help us run this country? That the White House is grinding to a halt, because we can't produce our Press Secretary on demand?

I can hear Jed complaining from here. He refuses to close the door between us, so that he can hear the least sound from me about the slightest progress. Meanwhile, he's doing his best to keep up the nation's usual business. But anyone who really knows him knows that this is not just a bad day. Just as anyone who knows me can tell that there's something pressing on my mind, too...

No time for it. We have to remain in command. There's just too much to do. Got to keep the administration going. I can't stop for anything � even to admit to myself that I feel personally responsible for CJ's well-being. No time.

It's not that the White House can't survive without a Press Secretary for a few hours, or even a few days. It's that the entire senior staff can't handle this crippling blow to their tight circle. Damn it, I want to order those guys to pull themselves together and get their asses back to work... and I can't. I can't bring myself to do it, not when I see how much each of them is suffering.

This is like a revelation. It makes you realize just how much we rely on each other around here.

Sounds like Jed's really talking himself into a fury. I pity the poor bum on the receiving end. Being President offers no exemption from human feelings. He works as closely with CJ as I do... in fact, he relies on her even more.

Thank God Abbey's here. She'll keep him on an even keel when no one else can. That woman could stabilize an earthquake. And an earthquake this is.

There's only one _other_ person who can fix it... who knows how to fix _everything_ for us... and she's the one who isn't here...

It was so good of Margaret to worry about me when my divorce papers came in. I don't blame her for fearing the worst; but the truth was, I didn't want a drink then. I'd already lost Jenny.

This is totally different. Now I _really_ want a drink.

*****

Thank God Abbey's here. Otherwise, I'd pitch the next official who "has to see me today" straight into the Rose Garden.

I've still got responsibilities. Duties. Tasks to perform that only the President can manage. People to see that only the President can convince. Problems to face that only the President can solve.

Excuse me, but I've got my _own_ emergency to deal with right now!

Yet the United States can't stop moving onward, just because one federal servant is missing.

Oh, I could argue that every life counts for something, or that we're not talking about a storeroom clerk here... but no matter how I justify it to myself, it still sounds alarmist and paranoid in my head just as I'm about to blast some persistent bureaucrat.

The President is in control. The President does not overreact. The President keeps things in perspective. The President always puts the welfare of the nation first.

_This_ President is currently missing a vital member of the team that helps him _run_ this nation. Damn it, I'm the most powerful man in the world! I can order people to search high and low, I can muzzle the press, I can terrify people into leaving me alone. But what good does any of this do for her right now?

What brought this on, anyway? Is it because she's a member of my staff? Did someone figure that my family was too protected, so they decided to get at me another way? Then why haven't we gotten a ransom demand or something?

If I break out the big guns to search for her, like I so want to do, what will it look like? That one of my employees is more valuable to me than every other citizen in the country? Will people start to whisper about the interest I have for this woman I work with every day? Like I need _that_ ridiculousness right now!

I should feel some sense of triumph that the hostage situation ended bloodlessly. The police, the FBI and the Secret Service all handled it perfectly. Twenty-six congresspeople and civil servants are safe, the aggressors are in custody, and democracy has been preserved.

I don't feel like celebrating. Because we sprang to the wrong conclusion, because we didn't dig as deeply and as thoroughly as we should have, we lost an entire day looking for the person who fell through the cracks. The person I know best of all of them.

What will that day end up costing her? What has it _already_ cost her?

I can't get past the feeling that this is somehow my fault. First, that I got her into this... and second, that I failed to get her out.

CJ, I pray to God that someday you can forgive me...


	5. Sonata in C MaJor 5

**Sonata in C MaJor**

**by: SheilaVR**

**Character(s):** CJ  
**Category(s):** General  
**Rating:** MATURE  
**Disclaimer:** Warmest thanks to Aaron Sorkin, Warner Bros., NBC, et al for graciously allowing us to expand upon their patented creation at no extra charge.  
**Summary:** CJ disappears without a trace...   
**Spoiler:** After "Galileo".  


* * *

***

**Interlude II**

The front door swings open, a loud bang that echoes through the cabin. It penetrates the closed bedroom door easily. It's the sound she has been dreading for hours.

"Honey, I'm home!"

_Great. The continuing saga of "The Devil and Donna Reed"..._

She can hear him laughing. "I've wanted to say that to you for ages!" Pause. "Hey, sweetheart, come see what I got!"

_Unless you've suddenly acquired some measure of sanity, I'm not interested._

She sighs, grits her teeth, and visibly braces herself. "Be right out." Slowly, trying to find a balance between her true feelings and the façade she has to play, she quietly unlocks her door and emerges.

He's standing there, dusted with snow, unloading several shopping bags. Obviously the supply run was a great success � from his point of view, if not hers.

His grin widens further at the sight of her. The bags are completely forgotten. "Oh, wow."

"What?" _What is it with you? I'm hardly THAT attractive, and I'm sure not wearing anything special..._

"It's just..." He actually gets misty-eyed. "All these months I've lived here alone, waiting for you... and now at last you're here � waiting for me!"

She suppresses a shiver. _Like there was anywhere else for me to go._

He clomps over to her in his snowy winter boots � _No, DON'T kiss me �_ wraps both arms around her, and kisses her on the lips, lightly enough. "I'm just so happy, I can hardly stand it!"

She smiles weakly.

"What do you think?" He shrugs off his coat and practically drags her over to the pile of purchases. "All the things you wanted... and a few extras." He resumes pulling out items and setting them down wherever there's space. She shakes her head when he can't see.

"You're going to love this. I'll whip you up such a feast that..." His jolly attitude fades. "Hey, wait... where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"Just a sec. I know I've got it. It's here someplace." He starts rummaging furiously through each bag in sequence. "It's _gotta_ be here. Where _is_ it?"

His face is getting redder every moment; she draws back a bit.

  __

"Damn!" The outburst is explosive. He straightens and slams his fist down on the counter. "They didn't give it to me!"

  __

What could possibly be so important that it merits this fury? "What's missing?" she asks cautiously, praying that her gentle tone will calm him down.

"The paprika! I can't make your Chicken Parisienne without it! They left it out!" He's really bellowing now.

  __

THEY left it out? Isn't it the shoppers' responsibility to find everything they want? How can anyone blame the store personnel?

" _Damn_ them!" He reaches out for the closest thing at hand � a large ceramic jar on the counter � and hurls it with all his strength and rage at the opposite wall. The thick crockery shatters with a crash that shakes the whole cabin, and the flour it contained blooms out in a huge white dust cloud from the sheer force.

She jumps back in fright.

  __

Dear God, if he gets this mad over a spice, how would he react if I tell him I don't love him?

She tries not to shake in the terror of that thought.

Nervously, she swallows. "Well, let's just have the chicken another time. I'm sure you can cook other dishes just as well."

"Sure, but that was supposed to be _your_ dinner! I wanted to make it for _you!_ I should go back there right now and wring their necks for doing this to me! To _you!_ " He snatches up his coat again, patently determined to do just that.

She raises both hands, a pacifying gesture that also might provide some small measure of defense should he turn his fury upon her. "It's okay. I don't mind waiting until you can make it right. Really I don't."

Very slowly, the pressure begins to fall. He's still breathing hard, fists clenched. _If I make one wrong move now, he'll really blow up � and then what'll he DO to me?_

I need a diversion, now!

Somehow, she manages to keep her terror hidden. She picks up the bottle of champagne, her hands trembling. "This looks lovely. But it must have been expensive."

He stares at her... and at the bottle. His face clears a bit. "Oh, nothing but the very best for you, my dear. I think you'll like it."

"I don't believe I've ever had this kind before."

He brushes a wisp of hair behind her ear.

"It's to die for."

*****

"So, what do you think of my cooking?"

All of the ambience one could possibly imagine is present: drippy candles backed by the roaring fireplace, champagne in fluted glasses, an elaborate pasta dish that perfumes the air with spices and steam. The diners are well-dressed indeed for such a rustic setting � him in a decent button-down shirt and dress slacks, her in a stunning full-length black silk gown that highlights her auburn hair and bares a lot of her back.

She struggles to hide her discomfort behind well-chosen words. "It's lovely... it's a lovely meal. Thank you for making it."

"Oh, my pleasure." He beams at being able to please her. "It may not be the Chicken Parisienne, but I was planning to make this soon anyway. I'm so glad you like it. I've been practicing a lot of thingsfor awhile now. I sure didn't want you to think that you'd be taking care of _me_."

  __

And just how do you propose to take care of ME?

You're staring at me again... you've been doing this all night... how am I supposed to react to that?

"I just can't get over how beautiful you are, Claudia. The way the light glints in your hair, and dazzles your eyes... it's breathtaking."

She has no intention of thanking him for _that_ compliment. Her uneasiness, steadily growing throughout the evening, begins to peak.

"I've been waiting for so long to share these things with you... Sometimes it's hard to decide what I want to do with you next."

Although his facial expression seems innocuous enough, the blood drains from her face at the possible implications.

  __

Is there a safe way for me to answer you?

Or will you read even more into my silence?

"In fact," he says, laying aside his glass and standing, "I have an idea right now..." And he extends his hand to her.

  __

I can only guess what you have in mind... She quails at complying, but the shock of his temper earlier makes any thought of resistance even more frightening. Very slowly, she rises, her face carefully neutral.

He leads her to the center of the room and leaves her there for a moment. She wonders what is going on; her heart rate accelerates. When he goes over to the stereo, she breathes a quiet, shaky sigh of relief. He picks a soft, romantic instrumental, then heads back over to her, smiling warmly.

  __

All right, go along. Stay alive. It's just a dance, after all...

He takes her gently in his arms, their hands clasped almost formally at the outset, not too close together just yet, and they start to sway. It's not real dancing, but a kinetic union with the rhythm of the music. He stares at her face, moving his gaze from her eyes to her lips and back.

  __

Do I look as distressed as I feel? I've never been more terrified of a dance in my life!

"You're so beautiful... And I've loved you for so long... I can scarcely believe we're finally together, at last..."

Her body stiffens uncontrollably at this.

Then she tries desperately to relax so he won't detect it. "Well, I can scarcely believe it either."

Their bodies are gradually moving closer together as his arms slip around her waist. Her left arm remains on his shoulder, but of its own volition her right moves to brace against his chest, trying to keep them at least a bit apart, to prevent total contact with him.

He chuckles softly and leans forward to lightly kiss her forehead. He doesn't have to stretch much; they're about the same height. "Oh, Claudia..." His voice is husky as he turns to the side and gently presses her head to rest on his shoulder. "I've never been so happy."

This time she can't bring herself to answer � which he naturally takes for whole-hearted agreement. "We are just meant to be together. Our life here will be so wonderful. What a glorious future..."

Then he turns his face into her hair and takes a deep breath of her. "I've needed this for so long."

  __

Needed?

She can smell his cologne � a very masculine scent she knows he applied just for her.

He's leaning even closer, starting to feather kisses along her neck. She groans softly in fear, and then is horrified that she couldn't control it. He, of course, interprets it as a moan of pleasure or anticipation, and steps up his attention. His rugged five o'clock shadow scrapes gently against her skin.

  __

No, the trembling in my body is NOT desire. Please stop this... What are you going to do to me? Are you just going to make love to me? Oh, God, the thought of you touching me like that... What if I resist? Your temper is atomic � would you become violent with ME? Please, no. I'd do anything to avoid that. Wouldn't I? What would that mean � would I have to pretend to participate? I have to live through this. I MUST. If I have any hope of returning to my normal life, I have to do whatever I can to keep you from turning your anger on me. Whatever it takes.

The thick white porcelain jar shatters again and again in her memory, the shards spinning in place from the sheer force of the impact. Would he break her bones as easily? This is the question at the root of her consuming fear.

  __

God, please help me...

He nibbles at her earlobe, flicking his tongue inside her ear. She gasps involuntarily.

He hears that gasp; his own breathing quickens as he reaches irresistibly for her mouth.

  __

So that's what I have to do. Please let this be over with quickly. I should have had more champagne. Just do whatever you are going to do and then let me go back into the bedroom, curl up and die.

By now both of them have abandoned any pretense at dancing. They're almost motionless, aligned pretty much from the chest down.

  __

How are you going to do this? Go slow, and really savor our first time? No, probably not � most men wouldn't have that much self-control by this point... certainly not a rough, uncouth backwoodsman, and a bona fide nutcase. Are you going to take me right here on the floor?

He tastes of pasta sauce and champagne � and lust.

  __

What do I DO? I don't want to touch YOU.

He's deepening the kiss steadily, and his hands are starting to roam... She's fighting the impulse to cry as the kiss goes on. She still has one hand braced firmly against his chest; he's pulling her closer with every minute despite this. His arms feel like bands of steel; she knows she can't break free.

By now she's completely pressed up against him; her level of discomfort skyrockets.

  __

Don't you even notice how I'm not caressing you back, I'm not even kissing you back, I'm still trying to push you away? Do you even care?

The nature of his kiss is changing... becoming much less gentle. He pushes his tongue into her mouth, and brings one hand up behind her head, increasing the pressure to the point of invasion. She struggles not to tremble; she feels as though she's being devoured...

Then he moves from her lips, around her jaw, to her neck, nudging her head back a bit, his breath hot and moist. Intent upon the tender skin of her throat, he doesn't see the fear and revulsion on her face.

  __

How can I make you STOP? And if I say no now, will you hurt me? I have no reason to believe you'll stop just because I ask you to!

She can feel the warmth of his hands through her gown � a touch that seems even warmer when he brushes across the bare skin of her open back. His grasp... even his caresses... are becoming more possessive.

As are his kisses. No longer the quiet, seductive teases at the start, they've become positively ravenous, stinging her skin. The genuinely _hungry_ sound makes her think of animals feeding. Appropriate, since she's being fed upon right now.

  __

Have you forgotten about me entirely, except as your possession? Can you see beyond your own needs AT ALL?

One of his hands drifts up her back to her neck. The clasp of her dress is a single button just below her hair.

When he gets it open, the whole gown will slip down her narrow frame.

  __

Oh, God, no...

Now she knows precisely why he asked her to wear _this_ dress tonight.

He can't possibly see what he's doing, but there is some fun for him in feeling his way � and added terror for her...

  __

NO. I can't take this any longer. I will NOT just tamely submit!

Pushing against him even harder is not likely to get his attention now if it hasn't so far �

"Wait... please..."

For the first time in what feels like centuries, he looks her in the eye. She sees his dilated pupils, his lips red and swollen from assaulting her flesh. "What is it, baby?"

She swallows, praying fiercely that this won't upset him. But she _has_ to run that risk. "I'm... sorry. This is all so... new... for me. I need... a little more time... to get used to it..."

His smouldering gaze is somewhat tempered by surprise. "Why? I told you: this is destined. It couldn't be more right."

"I know � I know. But... I know you've known me for a long time now... but I've only met _you_ for the first time less than a day ago."

He frowns. In confusion � or in anger? "Don't be ridiculous. We're together; we're here. At long last, we're home."

  __

When in doubt, tell the truth. "I'm... just a bit scared."

"Of what?" He stares at her uncomprehendingly. "Of _me?_ "

"Well..." At his new expression she hastily regroups. "I know I don't need to be � I know you'd never hurt me."

"Of _course_ I wouldn't!" He leans in to kiss her again, this time in an effort to be reassuring... but the flames are still burning too high.

Cautiously, she turns her head aside. "Yes, I know that. And I know you'll always want what's best for us."

There are a few seconds of agonizing hesitation as he balances her wishes against his needs. She has to play this very carefully.

"Look, I want it to be _right_ , for _both_ of us. I just need a little more time to acclimate to our new home before I can really... give myself to you. Okay? Please?"

  __

This might buy me another day � but only one. There'll be no putting him off tomorrow.

What am I getting myself into? I've virtually promised him my body the next time he asks, and the time after that...

But at least it's not _now_. She needs to buy time. Time for rescue, time for escape. Any time at all.

He looks at her, his breath ragged. She heads off his next protest by gently touching his face. "Thanks for the evening. And for understanding."

He pauses for another endless heartbeat...

... and his arms relax.

"Uh, sure. I understand."

  __

Huge breath.

"Listen, I'm still feeling rather tired. I'd better go to sleep. Good night." She steps back from him, turns and walks toward the bedroom as fast as she can without appearing to hurry.

  __

I can feel his eyes on me still...

But at least that's all...

She closes the door, snaps the lock... and collapses against the wood, shaking.

  __

Guys, you've got to find me. I wiggled out of this one, but I won't be able to tomorrow. What will you think of me if I do ANYTHING to survive � even this? Or if I defend myself to the last � and am raped AND killed? But if I don't protest, is it still rape?

Which is worse? I don't know!

Damn it, I'm going to HAVE to give in to him. There's just no other alternative. I've seen a graphic example of his temper. I won't be able to fight him off. If I submit, I'll spare myself at least physical pain and damage. And I've got a plan now � a way to signal for help. I have to stay alive long enough for it to reach the White House. I HAVE to survive!

She _has_ to get her signal planted as soon as possible. Just knowing that it could be spotted at any moment will help her endure her own purgatory the next day...

Still trembling, she heads for the bathroom. _I have GOT to take a shower. Wash off the memory of his touch... and his smell, and his lust..._

She turns on the water as hot as she can stand it, trying to re-purify herself. It doesn't work, but she can't stop herself...

Ages later, she emerges, changes into her nightgown, switches off the lights and burrows down into the soft bed, knowing full well that this night will bring no sleep.

  __

Besides, I have to get up VERY early, if my plan has any chance of success.

She hugs the pillow close as her tears finally start to fall.

  __

Is this how Death Row feels, facing immediate execution?

And in some ways, certainly for a woman, _this_ future is even worse.

  __

You really can wonder if survival is worth this...

She curls up into herself, trembling, sobbing, waiting for the dawn.

*****

The sun is nowhere near the horizon, but the thick clouds pressing down overhead and the white snow underneath seem to trap whatever light does exist between them. It is too early to really be considered morning, when the sliding door that leads from cabin to garden eases silently open.

  __

Not a sound. No way could I hope to explain this.

She's dressed as warmly as possible, considering that she dared not go for her coat in the vestibule outside her room, mere feet from where he's snoring. The best she could do was layer every sweater until she bulges out like a quarterback.

  __

I'd really rather not catch a cold � but then again, that misery might distract both of us...

She closes the door just as carefully. In the garden, she selects one of the happy pink flamingos and tucks it under an arm, then lets herself out into the snow.

  __

This has got to be one of the craziest ideas on record.

But she has to do something, if only for her own peace of mind. Certainly she can outthink just about anyone, and with her intimate knowledge of paths of communications she hopes that she's come up with something that wouldn't occur to most people. After all, her life would be forfeit if _he_ figured it out.

  __

And the craziest part of all is that I'm going to have to come back voluntarily. These mountains are too isolated to hike through in winter with no supplies and no idea of the best direction to take. I don't intend to charge blindly into the forest until I collapse and freeze. I just can't get that far. I've got no choice but to make it look like I'm NOT escaping, or signaling. I'm coming back to the cabin one way or another.

Prisoners of war have recounted how just having a concrete plan of escape, no matter how unlikely, was a huge source of hope.

  __

My friends are looking for me; I know they are. Maybe � just maybe � I can help them find me!

She gets her bearings in the strange, deceptive light, and starts trudging uphill as fast as she can go.

  __

Any signal has to be high and in the open, far enough away from the cabin that HE won't stumble across it, yet near enough that it'll lead my rescuers right to me. Such a small order...

The snow is deep and unbroken, the hill steep. Every step is a three-fold effort. Soon she's panting. But she doesn't dare slow down.

  __

This is harder than I expected. Damn it, I'm from California! Sure, I've skied; I know enough about snow and exposure. But I'm hardly trained in mountaineering. And if I don't get back to the cabin before he awakens...

There is no real path � only breaks between the bare deciduous trees and thick conifers. The snow is less deep in the open, but at least the forest blocks the bitter wind.

  __

That hill had better be where it seemed to be when I checked yesterday morning... If it's not, I won't have the time OR the strength to pull this off.

The meadow crowning this hill rises against the clouds like a bald spot, glaringly empty and fringed with hair on all sides. And here the wind-groomed snow lies quite a bit shallower. 

  __

Not bad at all. Anyone flying overhead HAS to see it.

There is no opportunity even to catch her breath. Taking the measure of the meadow, she begins to stamp out a huge SOS, as wide and deep as she can make it in the short time she knows she has, kicking away the snow to reveal green-brown grass that has never been mowed. The contrast in color should attract an aerial eye.

  __

Hurry! If he catches me here...

At last, in the center of the "O," like the bull's-eye of a target, she drives the steel legs of the plastic flamingo into a thin crack bisecting a stretch of lichen-covered bedrock. This way the bright pink object rises well above the snowdrifts, and stands out in sharp relief against both the dark letters and the pale background.

  __

There. My calling card.

She pauses, breathing hard, damp with perspiration under all those layers of clothing. The two full hours of strenuous effort have depleted what little energy the sleepless night left her. But her signal is in place.

  __

Now, if only the snow and the wind and the wildlife hold off messing it up until someone spots it! Maybe I should come back tomorrow morning and lay down some evergreen branches for insurance...

She takes one blissful moment to drink in the view of the brightening sky over the lake below and the snow-covered hills beyond. _Beautiful. Almost as if I'm really free._

The moment passes. She is not free, but hemmed in by decidedly inhospitable terrain � and she has to leave before this one shot at freedom is discovered by the wrong person.

  __

He may be up by now. What'll he do when I don't answer him? How long before he thinks to check outside? My tracks will lead him right to me!

At once she turns and makes her way back downhill, following the path she broke on the way up. The walk is easier, but she is very tired now. Her clothes no longer trap her body heat as effectively; instead, the wet fibers let the wind through to chill her.

  __

At the VERY least I have to head him off before he realizes just where I've been, and decides to check out the view for himself.

If he does... God, what will he do to me?

I've got to survive! Someone will see that signal and come for me � it's only a matter of time. But they have to have something to find!

In a way, walking downhill through deep snow is harder than walking _up_ hill; momentum can work against you rather than for you. Stumbling along her poorly-cleared path, scattering snow in her haste, she strikes a patch of ice that she missed before and skids out of control. She rolls several feet down the slope before she can wrestle herself to a stop.

For several seconds she just lies there in a tangled heap, half-stunned by the sudden upset and the disorienting tumble. The snow and the wind are penetrating together, making her colder with each passing moment.

  __

Get up! Get UP!

Wearily, she pushes against the soft, yielding snow and slowly gains her knees, then her feet. Then, a moment later, she cries out in pain.

  __

My ankle...

It doesn't feel broken, but it hurts for all that.

  __

Just great. Perfect.

Balancing precariously with as little pressure on that foot as possible, she brushes the worst of the snow off before any more can soak through. Then she gazes down the hill at the distance she still has to go. By now she's really cold, exhausted, and hurting.

  __

I can make it. I CAN.

With an air of fatalism, she resumes her trek down the slope.

It's a lot harder now; she can't trust her left ankle at all. Her strength and endurance are fading fast. A roaring builds in her ears.

  __

If I fall again, I'll never get up... No one will find me before the spring...

Keep going...

"Claudia!"

She brakes, seized by a strange mixture of dread and � relief �

"Claudia, where _are_ you?" He sounds a bit closer. Perhaps he's following her tracks? If so, he'll reach her in minutes.

She's too tired to even call. She shuffles sideways, on the verge of losing her balance again, and leans against a hard tree trunk, shivering uncontrollably.

  __

I don't care anymore...

"Claudia?" He's very near now, and he sounds concerned.

She makes one more effort to walk, to get that much further from the crest of the hill and the signal that he must not see.

He almost bursts through the undergrowth. " _There_ you are! I've been looking all over! Then I saw your tracks. What are you _doing_ out... Oh my gosh, are you okay?"

The cold is bothering her less by this point; in fact, even her pain does not register as much. She peers at him in the early morning light and murmurs, "Yeah, I think I hurt my..."

Her eyes turn completely glassy... and she crumples. He springs forward and manages to catch her before she can hit the snow again.

Her next sensation is being carried. He's struggling along as fast as he can without jostling her too much. To her incoherent mind this travel resembles drifting rather than bouncing, as though she lay on a toboggan rather than in his arms. Then � mere seconds later, it seems � he shoulders open the cabin door and brings her in out of the merciless elements.

Ignoring the snow his boots leave behind, he goes straight to the bedroom and gently places her upon the bed. She's too cold and wet for the warmth to penetrate at once, but she can feel it on her face and knows that it's just a matter of time before it sinks all the way through. That knowledge alone helps her mind to clear.

  __

Definitely better than dying out there...

She can see again. He's looming right over her, looking more than a little worried.

"Claudia, dear, can you hear me? Are you all right? Please tell me you're okay!"

  __

Go away... let me rest...

But then she remembers that she dares not anger him.

"Just cold. And tired."

"Oh, good. We can take care of that in a hurry! Wait right here." He leaves her, and a few moments later she hears water pouring into the tub. Then he returns, trailing the scent of fragrant bath salts. "Come on; you need to warm up at once. Which means you have to get out of these wet things." He starts to peel off the layers of wool for her.

  __

That jolts her to full awareness. _Wait �_

She raises her hands to take his and stop him, gently. "No, I can manage. Thanks."

He looks uncertain. Not angry, thank God. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Why don't you go start a fire? That would feel great."

He hesitates. "Oh... okay. But you call me if you need any help."

"I will. My ankle's not that bad. I just need to warm up."

"Okay." Slowly, he draws back, and leaves.

  __

Okay. Got to get up one more time. I need that bath � badly!

With great effort, she pushes herself up, staggers to her feet, and limps into the bathroom, leaving a trail of sodden sweaters behind. It is pure heaven to sink into that steaming hot water, to let the heat soak into her very core until she tingles all over.

  __

I could stay here forever...

Or... maybe not. But I've made my signal. Someone HAS to spot it.

That knowledge, coupled with the thick scent of lilacs and the blissful warm bath, are enough to ease her mind. For now.

*****

He's laid out the nightgown for her on the bed, and a rich satin robe. She doesn't want anything confining, and she's still too worn out to think, so she slips into both.

By the time she comes out of the bedroom, walking slowly and carefully, yet feeling much more herself, he has the fire roaring.

"Careful!" He rushes to her aid, as though she can't take a step without his assistance, and guides her delicately to the couch. "You just rest that foot and warm up. Here." He shakes open a comforter and tucks it around her.

"There we go. Are you comfortable, Claudia?"

"Much better, thanks." And it is.

"Can I get you anything? I know � hot coffee! Maybe with something stronger in it...?"

"Uh � coffee will be fine."

"Coming right up." He fetches a steaming mug. "And I'll start breakfast in just a few minutes. But first, let me have a look at that ankle. Living on your own, you learn to look after yourself pretty good." He fetches a small but efficient first-aid kit.

The memory of last night is still fresh; she does not want him touching her at all. _Still, it's just a bandage._ So she extends her foot out of the comforter's folds and submits to his ministrations.

"What were you doing outside, anyway?"

"Well... I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep, so I thought I'd go for a brief stroll. It was so early that I didn't want to wake you. Then I started getting tired and turned back."

"Next time, wait for me. You could have gotten lost! I never would've found you!"

That idea is unpleasant for both of them, if for different reasons.

Gently, he wraps a tensor bandage around the swollen joint. He seems pretty expert at it, too. "Yep, just a mild sprain. Nothing serious. How does that feel?"

"Fine. You're good at that."

"I know." There's just a hint of smugness in his tone � and a new gleam in his eye. The hand supporting her heel lowers it to the floor... and his fingers start sliding up her calf. The comforter is in his way, so he calmly pulls it aside.

  __

Oh, Lord, no... not yet... not NOW...

Her natural instinct is to cover herself, even though he steadily persists in pushing up her gown to finger her knee.

"Uh � you know, breakfast sounds really good..."

"Yeah, I'm hungry, too..." Kneeling at her feet, he gazes raptly at the skin he is uncovering. "Perhaps I should check you for other injuries first."

  __

I made my decision. I'm going to cooperate with him. It'll hurt less. My signal is in place. All I need is time.

But is this the ONLY way to buy that time? My God �

She can't completely control her revulsion as he leans over to sprinkle kisses along her leg, inhaling the fresh, sweet fragrance of her clean skin.

  __

Get it together, girl. If you're really going through with it, then do it!

She can't bring herself to participate willingly; every single nerve is in rebellion. All she can do is be still, and endure. The clinical part of her brain, however, is shouting that she'd be much better off if she could find any way at all to enjoy this...

Joining her on the couch, he reaches for her head and draws her into another kiss, growing deeper by the moment...

She forces herself to kiss him back at least a little. _Let's just get this over with as soon as possible. Anything to end it._

Firmly grasping her slight shoulders, he starts pressing her back into a semi-reclining position on the couch. Now he's hovering directly over her, with one leg inserted between hers; it traps her in place. He props up his weight with the outside hand braced against the couch arm, his other holding her head still. By this stage the comforter is fully shoved aside, and only her bathrobe and nightdress remain...

He keeps kissing her, moving around the jaw and down the throat, progressing inexorably towards her cleavage, while his inside hand unties the belt of her robe. He's being reasonably gentle � for the moment � but they both know there's no turning back now.

"I was going to wait until tonight..." His voice is low and hoarse, and hideously menacing to her. "But I can't... you're so beautiful..."

  __

I don't want to be beautiful right now. I don't even want to be female!

He tugs the robe open and lifts her shoulders a bit, allowing the soft material to glide down her arms. She does not resist, fighting to keep her absolute _horror_ from showing on her face. The satin and the down comforter together make a soft nest on the couch. The nightgown has only two thin shoulder straps; once they slip off, the whole thing will fall away without any effort at all.

She closes her eyes. _I can't watch... just let it end..._

The heat from the fire is being matched by the heat emanating from him as he reaches for those straps with both hands. The first one glides down her upper arm �

  __

Oh, God, here it comes!

She can't stop herself: no matter how hard she tries to fight it, her emotions surge forward. Tears squeeze past her best control and silent sobs rack her body.

It takes him a few seconds to realize that they _are_ sobs, not quivers of delight. He pauses, then pulls back. "What?"

  __

Oh, no � he noticed.

"What's wrong?"

She can't speak; she doesn't trust herself to make a sound. All she can do is lie there and stare at him, blinking rapidly, struggling with herself.

At last, at long last, he reaches the obvious conclusion. "You don't want me."

  __

You finally noticed?

His expression is changing � moving away from passion. Through several stages, towards something else.

"After all I've done for you, _you don't love me!_ "

Anger � the one emotion that terrifies her more than his lust.

"I... I'm trying..."

"And all that talk last night? Making sure it was _right?_ That was just talk, wasn't it?"

"No � I wouldn't do anything to upset you � "

  __

"You lied to me!"

The real terror kicks in. But before she can even attempt a defense �

"There's another man. That's the problem. Someone else stands in the way of your heart belonging to me. I should've known."

  __

Even if there was, I doubt very much if that would stop you �

"And I just betcha I know who. I watch the news, you know. I saw the pictures. It's that reporter fellow. You had dinner together. _He's_ the one!"

  __

No � Danny �

She struggles to sit up. "No! That was a business � "

He leans back, glaring at her. " _Don't_ lie to me, ever again. You prefer him, do you? Well, I don't intend to give you up. You're _mine_ now! He's nothing � except a _threat_."

  __

My God, what do you intend to DO?

She wants to scream at him. To hit him. She _has_ to distract him from taking _any_ steps against Danny at all.

  __

You've got only one possible asset left, woman. Use it!

Danny, forgive me...

She keeps her voice low, earnest, and provocative. "I don't love him." _Do I? Is that true for a fact? I'm not absolutely sure myself � but it doesn't matter either way. I can't bear the thought of him suffering for me._ "We just had dinner. It was business." She forces herself to settle back, to position herself seductively. "I'd rather be here with you."

  __

A bald-faced lie if ever I told one! But if it'll stop him from doing anything sudden and violent �

He hesitates at the sight of her. She seizes her opportunity and reaches for his face, pulling him down for a kiss that could not feel less than passionate.

He can tell the difference now between apathy and willingness. She can see it in his eyes as he draws back for another look, and she deliberately lets the second strap ease off her other shoulder. Nothing matters at all except diverting his rage. _Nothing._

His fiery gaze sweeps over her body, returns to her face... and his own features begin to change again.

  __

God, NOW what?

Then she knows the horrific truth: he's seen through her act. He's read determination in her, not passion.

"This isn't real. You're doing this for _him_."

"Wait � "

He stands, fists clenched, glowering down at her. "You're doing this just so you can get back to _them_. Especially _him!_ Well, Claudia, it won't work. He's an unhealthy influence on you � you just don't realize it yet. He's the strongest link to your past. Well, I'm going to set you free. _Permanently._ "

  __

"NO!" She scrambles up, pulling her nightgown back into place through sheer instinct rather than conscious thought, her mind flattened by what she's just unleashed. What she tried to do for Danny's sake has in fact only made matters worse.

  __

This is MY FAULT �

He's already moved away from her. In swift seconds he steps into his boots, shrugs on his coat and snatches up his laptop. "Don't worry, Claudia. I really do understand. As long as he's still around, you can't stop thinking about him. But he's not good enough for you. So you just let me handle it. I'll take care of the whole thing. This guy will never trouble you again."

  __

You're planning to KILL him �

"And when I'm done, you'll love me freely. Not because you _have_ to, not thinking of _that guy_ or anyone else. Trust me; you'll see."

  __

"Don't! PLEASE!" Limping, she physically interposes herself between him and the door.

He keeps moving forward, as though intending to run her over. His free hand reaches into his coat pocket... and produces a revolver.

The memory of Rosslyn's terror is still brutally fresh; in the most basic instinct of self-preservation she recoils violently away. Away from him... away from the door.

Before she can recover, before she can remind herself that he has always insisted he'd never harm her, before she can regain her balance and oppose him, he flings open the door and strides outside.

She rushes to the threshold in his wake � _Got to STOP HIM_ � and is hit in the face with a blast of flying snow and arctic chill. She is standing barefoot and in her nightdress, while he heads for his car to drive off and murder her friend.

  __

Futile... helpless... there's no hope of stopping him...

DANNY �

*****

I am trapped here alone. No way to leave. No way to warn Danny or anyone else.

My God, Danny is about to be _killed_ by this madman, and _I CAN'T PREVENT IT!_

There's absolutely no reason to think he won't succeed... Danny has no reason to expect anyone would attack him, and he has no semblance of protection...

  __

Nooooooo...

How the hell does Paul think this is going to help? He's going to come back with Danny's blood on his hands and he expects me to throw myself into his arms?

What will he decide to do next? Kill off my entire family, so that I'll have no ties to my past at all, and no one else in the world to turn to except _him?_

Will he go after all my other friends as well? I've seen his skewed logic and his temper; he's capable of just that kind of reasoning and that level of violence.

Josh... Toby �

My God, the _President?_

He's got the clout to keep a search for me going indefinitely. Paul must realize that.

And it only takes one gun in the crowd... We've all seen how easily that can happen...

My friends' terrible concern for me has only made matters worse for _all_ of us!

Survival is not worth this. Not while my loved ones are being systematically slaughtered. Because of me.

And if I am rescued someday, how could I face my _surviving_ friends with the death of others on my conscience? _Danny..._

When Paul _does_ come back, there's no way I'll be able to fake affection now. No way I _can_ play along, even if I still wanted to for my own welfare. No way I can hide my horror, and my grief.

And I don't want to hide any of it. Not for anything.

Which doesn't leave me many options. When he comes back, he'll see that I won't give in to him now, so he might as well kill me at once and be done with it. That would be infinitely preferable to being locked up as his sex toy. I have no further doubt there.

When he comes back...

...Could I kill him himself?

Could I _force_ myself to kill him? Even in self-defense?

It would avenge Danny, at least, and it would also make sure Paul couldn't do this to anyone else, ever again.

I don't _want_ to avenge Danny! I want to _SAVE_ him!

_And I can't..._

Oh, yes... right now I honestly believe I could kill.

_Oh, come on, CJ � what are the odds of you pulling THAT off successfully?_

Well, either way, I'll certainly _fight_. He's not going to abuse me anymore. He'll have to kill me first.

And if I do fight him, he'll try. If I don't incapacitate him _fast_...

Perhaps I could face my death more easily if I did manage to kill him first. Can't say I want the blood of even a psychopath on my soul, but at least it would eliminate his threat to this world forever...

In fact, it doesn't matter to me any longer which one of us dies... so long as _one_ of us does.

Then again...

... Why does it have to be that difficult?

I have _some_ control, still. There are ways to reduce the pain, the panic, the fear.

I might as well deprive him of the one thing he really wants.

Myself.

~*~*~*~*~


	6. Sonata in C MaJor 6

**Sonata in C MaJor**

**by: SheilaVR**

**Character(s):** CJ  
**Category(s):** General  
**Rating:** MATURE  
**Disclaimer:** Warmest thanks to Aaron Sorkin, Warner Bros., NBC, et al for graciously allowing us to expand upon their patented creation at no extra charge.  
**Summary:** CJ disappears without a trace...   
**Spoiler:** After "Galileo".  


* * *

***

**Phase IV: Crescendo**

Crescendo (adj.): progression towards a climax

There has always been a small core of staff members who work directly with the President in the White House, and who consult with him regularly about the country's administration. Then there are politicians who visit every now and then to give their leader specialized expertise on a huge range of topics which, combined, form the backbone of Congress. Then there are private business consultations, public media events, diplomatic audiences and ceremonial functions. And _then_ there are the moments of true crisis, when the Armed Forces step in. But for the vast majority of the time and the vast majority of the population, a summons to the Oval Office means one of only two options: either you've done something especially commendable... or else something is horribly wrong.

When Danny Concannon received _his_ summons, he had no doubt at all which was the case.

"She's dead. She was in a car accident... or she was mugged... she was found in a ditch. And the President wants to break the news personally..."

He walked slowly, stiffly, not in the least eager to obey his leader; he had spent almost every hour of the past two days imagining all the horrid possibilities, trying to prepare himself for the very worst.

Those he met in the halls seemed to move aside and give him more than enough room to pass. They might have overheard the repeated mutterings he couldn't prevent... or they might have guessed from the torment in his eyes.

When he entered reception, Mrs. Landingham said nothing at all. She must have read his expression and known that words were useless. She merely gave him a sympathetic look and nodded towards the door on the right.

This confirmed what his heart had feared all along. Slowly, like a condemned man, he went over and opened that door into the heart of the realm.

"Danny." The President rose from behind his desk and walked around to meet him. There was no one else in the room. "Thanks for coming." He did not smile.

The reporter closed the door behind him. He heard the click of the latch, as though it locked him in and made any escape from this soul-crushing information impossible. After one laborious heartbeat, he turned.

It was here that he had walked away from her. Here that he had accepted her ultimatum, and said good-bye with deliberate intent to hurt. That moment seemed to have taken place mere hours ago... and yet, paradoxically, in a different, distant lifetime as well.

Gripping his nerve with all his strength, he approached to stand on the blue carpet in front of the Chief Executive.

"What is it?"

Not the most respectful greeting one usually should have for the most powerful man in the world...

Bartlet did not comment. Hardly anyone on the House payroll was not affected by this constant strain, these same extremes of moodiness.

"I'm sorry to have to drag you all the way down here. But even though they've officially ended the lock-down, the Secret Service are still very much concerned, since someone so close to me is missing. You know � "

Danny had no stamina for social amenities at this instant, not even here. His self-control was fraying with every additional word. He forced himself to stand still a bit longer. "Just tell me what happened."

"Well, I've got my intelligence notes right here." The President gestured towards the sofas. "Come and sit down � "

  __

"God damn it, TELL me!"

When was the last time someone dared to stand in this office and yell at their Commander-in-Chief? But Danny just couldn't take it any longer. He refused to be led tamely to a seat and heaped with condolences before being told the awful truth that he'd already surmised. No. He would stand, look the bearer of sad tidings in the face, and watch his heart crumble away.

Bartlet looked both confused and decidedly taken aback by this vehement reaction, emergency notwithstanding. Still, he felt the ever-present suspense as keenly as anyone else, and understood a good part of what Danny was going through.

So he nodded. Drawing a deep breath, he abandoned all platitudes. The journalist clenched his teeth, anticipating the dreaded words �

"We want your help to find her."

That simple statement echoed through the room.

By visible degrees, Danny's features mutated from horror to... something else, something he himself could not yet define.

"You want me to help you?" he repeated slowly.

"Sure. You know CJ as well as any of us. You'll be an asset."

"She's not dead?" Danny whispered, trying to wrap his brain around this totally unexpected fact.

The President shrugged, looking grim but not grief-stricken. "Well, we don't have any evidence yet that she is."

Danny kept blinking, under siege by his emotions. "You didn't bring me here to tell me she was dead?"

Now it dawned on Bartlet just what his visitor had been thinking � had been expecting all along. He actually stepped back, eyes wide. "Good Lord, no. Oh, man, Danny, I'm _sorry_. I didn't mean to give you that impression at all."

Danny just stood there and tried to bring his breathing under control. He felt light-headed. His world hadn't been demolished after all... yet...

"Come on, have a seat." There was no resistance this time; the President guided him gently towards a sofa, fetched a glass of water, and then sat down opposite.

Danny held the glass in both hands for some seconds before drinking. Finally, his mind stopped spinning. Finally, he looked up.

A long-time judge of character, Bartlet knew that further discussion of the misunderstanding would help neither of them. Instead, he swung straight into business.

"CJ's place has been dusted and searched. There was no sign of an intrusion or a struggle, nothing broken or knocked over. But we're wondering if things might have been moved or _re_ moved in a more subtle fashion � which most people wouldn't notice." He paused. "Josh and Toby have each been over there already, and they didn't think that anything's been disturbed." He paused again.

"I don't want you to read anything into this, Danny... but, well, we know you two are friends..." The President fumbled a bit in no small discomfort. "Well, we're just trying to cover all the bases."

Slowly, the reporter nodded. "I understand, sir, and no offense taken. I did visit her place, once. I only saw the living room and kitchen, but I think I'd know if things had been moved around much from the way they were that time."

Bartlet relaxed. "Thanks. A couple of agents will go with you. Let us know what you think, how the place feels."

"I will."

"We all really appreciate this, Danny."

Curiously, despite that final-sounding statement, he did not rise, did not signal the end of their interview, but rather preserved this quiet comradeship, regardless of the continual march of time and the shadows of anxiety that never went away. His next words were chosen with especial care. "You can probably guess what your help means to us."

Danny looked at the leader of the free world... and in that famous face he read the same concern that had haunted him for two full days.

"Well, sir, _you_ can probably guess what _your_ help means to _me_ right now."

In the ensuing silence that settled around them, they nodded together.

*****

"Right now we're running on the assumption that it's a kidnapping, even though we've heard nothing yet about a ransom or any demands. The search is moving along intensely, but quietly � we don't want to tip off the press _or_ scare the perpetrators into fleeing the country. So far the FBI have turned up nothing in DC, and are widening to include the surrounding states."

Standing behind his desk, Leo put down one report and picked up another, reading from it with the same flat, unemotional tone. "The Secret Service went over CJ's apartment again, and they spoke to her landlord and her neighbors. No one saw or heard anything the slightest bit out of the ordinary Tuesday morning or the night before. According to the computer file on parking garage access, CJ last used her key just before 5AM � so presumably she was all right until then. This means she must have disappeared somewhere between her place and the gym: a distance of less than half a mile, and a window of about fifteen minutes."

"Ironic," Sam observed from his seat to one side. "If she _hadn't_ been kidnapped, she would've been in the thick of the hostage crisis. All the cards were stacked against her that morning."

"And which fate is worse?" Josh was pacing constantly up and down the office's length, hair unkempt and eyes wild. "We don't even know if this _is_ a kidnapping! What if she went for a drive last night or something, and her car broke down? She could be stranded! Trapped someplace! How long can she hope to last in the open in winter? What do we do � just sit here until she walks back in... or until her body turns up?"

"Shut up, Josh," Toby ordered quietly. As usual, he stood towards the rear, fading into the background... well, most of the time.

The Deputy Chief of Staff whirled on him. " _Don't_ tell me to shut up. I've had enough of us sitting around and just waiting for whatever's going to happen. We have to _do_ something! Don't you understand that?"

Sam sighed. "Take it easy. The professionals are out there doing the best they can."

"Well, it's _not enough_. We're the White House � _we_ should have the ability to find her!" Josh waved his arms in all directions. "We should be out there looking for her ourselves!"

"Where?" Toby challenged him, his own self-control starting to waver. "Do any of us here have the first idea where to start? The field agents know where to look, _how_ to look, how to get information, and what to do when they _do_ find her. They don't need us getting underfoot and slowing them down."

"But we've got to do _something!_ " Josh shouted.

"We are," Leo stated firmly, removing his glasses and setting the reports aside. "We're doing our job. We're keeping the nation on track, we're keeping this out of the press, and we're giving the search parties all the support they need. We're letting them do _their_ job, because they do it best."

He waited until Josh subsided a bit, even though the pacing never stopped. " _And_ , we're going to do our best to come up with a reason for this. If we can figure out why, that will probably tell us who."

  __

"Probably?"

"Josh, will you calm down?" Sam pleaded. "We're all worried. But we have to think rationally about this. Our brains are the greatest asset we have."

"I can't... think..." Josh threw himself down on the sofa, his head rotating back and forth in guilt-ridden denial. "Oh, God... if only we hadn't gone jumping to conclusions all day Tuesday... if only we'd looked at _all_ the possibilities � but instead we ourselves caused a further delay, and it might easily cost CJ her _life!_ "

Toby turned from him and stared at the wall.

"CJ has no enemies of her own. If she _was_ kidnapped, it must have been by someone who wants to get to the President."

Sam sat up straighter, his features tightening. "He can't negotiate any more now than before with the terrorists."

Leo nodded sadly. "If it were a member of his family, the public would understand if he tried. But for an employee � "

"I don't give a _shit_ about the _public viewpoint_ right now!" Josh snapped, hammering his thighs with clenched fists.

The resulting pause agreed with him wholeheartedly.

Leo sat down in his chair and exhaled. "Her family has been contacted. Her mother and brother will be flying in from California."

No one commented on that further emotional complication.

Sam gnawed on his lip. "I don't like this helpless feeling. I don't like it one bit."

"Welcome to the club," Toby muttered. He ran a hand up over his receding hairline in that trademark mannerism of fighting with himself.

"Another candidate for membership is Danny Concannon." Leo had decided that now was as good a moment as any to mention this added detail.

This time Toby turned right around, eyes narrow. "Why?"

Everyone looked back at him. The underlying import could not be ignored.

"He's her friend, too. He certainly knows her as well as any of us. Plus," Leo went on smoothly, "he's got contacts that could be useful. It wouldn't be a bad idea to include him in whatever other intelligence briefings we have."

Toby drew himself up. "Yeah, well, there's a problem with having a journalist get so involved in a search and rescue mission. The _very_ last thing we need right now is for him to become someone _else's_ story."

"He's agreed to help us, Toby. He'll sit on this for good if it'll help _her_." The Chief of Staff did not back down before this sudden opposition.

"Like we need yet another person entrenched in this quagmire who isn't in a position to _really_ help us."

"Senior correspondent? I think he could be a big help indeed."

"If he decides to become a maverick reporter, he could further jeopardize CJ's safety!" The Communications Director had no intention of backing down either.

Leo raised an eyebrow. "You really believe he'd do that?"

For a moment, Toby fell silent... avoiding the eyes of his colleagues and the thoughts they were no doubt entertaining.

"Not intentionally," he admitted at last, in all fairness. "But have you seen how emotionally he's reacting to all of this? That attitude is _not_ helpful. Keep him on the outside � for our own protection."

Again he refused to meet those silent gazes around him.

Finally, Leo nodded. Although whether he was agreeing with the validity of the argument, or choosing a course of action that would put less strain on one of his own people in particular, none of his people could say.

As most often happened, Sam blurted out what no one else would dare. "You know, I wonder if the one who's getting too emotionally intertwined with CJ's disappearance... is you."

Toby moved his eyes, no more. If looks could kill...

*****

Donna checked the bank of wall clocks for the umpteenth time. "How long can these meetings possibly take?" she complained aloud to no one in particular.

"As long as they can possibly stretch them out," Cathy said with the voice of experience. "But look on the bright side: at least in here you can calculate the meeting's length in every time zone in the world."

"That's a good idea. I can tell Josh that he's running late according to the President, the Queen and the Pope."

"A watched-for boss never appears." Cathy didn't look up from her filing. "The moment you leave your desk, though, they're guaranteed to show up."

Donna fidgeted. "You're probably right � but I don't dare leave him alone right now."

Cathy raised her head at this. "So _that's_ why you wanted to speak with Sam earlier. I was wondering."

"All right, I'll admit it: I was recruiting him for the Josh-watch." Donna's usually irrepressible smile had not been seen yet today. "I'm really worried about him. Sure, he's always been a bit unstable... but _this_ � "

"I wouldn't want to deal with him on a _good_ day. Sam's much more normal." Cathy paused. "Although even _he's_ showing the strain."

" _Strain_ , they say. _UNSTABLE_ , they say. Would you two just shut up," Bonnie grumped as she passed by.

"Well, you're the masochist." Donna wandered over to Carol, who was working furiously away at her desk, and attempted to be cheerful. "So, how's the Acting � "

" _Don't_ say it," came the immediate and sharp reply. "I am _not_ the Acting Press Secretary. That sounds to me like we've already assumed that CJ won't be coming back."

Donna drew back a bit. "Sorry."

After another moment Carol sighed and rested her hands on her paper-strewn desktop. "No, it's okay. Well, not _okay_ , but..." She sighed again. "It's _my_ boss that's missing."

All of the employees present fell silent at such a simple yet blatant statement. Even Donna didn't comment.

"And you know what's worst?" Carol went on. "All morning Tuesday I called CJ's cell, and it kept saying she was out of range. Not out of _service_ , but out of _range._ If I'd stopped just _once_ to think, I would've realized that she couldn't possibly have been at the gym."

She closed her eyes, fighting the tears, haunted by the guilt. "CJ was God knows how many hundreds of miles away already, and I missed it! I missed that clue, and we lost an entire day looking for her!"

No one else spoke. Several listeners looked down in depression. The whole bullpen was impressively quiet for the middle of a workday.

"And if _anyone else_ today asks me why I don't just move into CJ's office, like she's _never coming back again to USE it_ , I'll _scream!_ "

After a long pause, Donna nodded. "I know how you feel. All those weeks that Josh was out, several people suggested that I use his office because it would have been so convenient. It made me cry every time."

Carol looked up with visible tear-streaks.

Gently, Donna placed a hand on Carol's shaking shoulder. "It'll be all right. The guys care for CJ as much as we do. They'll find her. All we have to do is back them up and keep this place going, so that they have fewer things to worry about."

Carol sniffled a few times, grabbed a tissue, and tried to regain control.

"You're going great," Donna persisted. She seated herself on the edge of the desk and maintained her support. The physical link was an amazing comfort for them both. "Hang in there."

Bonnie returned just as her phone rang, shattering the quiet. Files under one arm, she lunged for it without pausing to sit down. "Toby Ziegler's office."

At that standard business-like announcement, everyone around seemed to shake their heads and return to their duties.

"He's in a meeting right now; may I..."

Donna gave Carol another reassuring pat on the shoulder and stood, likewise sliding back into the familiar office mold. Carol smiled her gratitude and visibly reassumed the same attitude to the best of her abilities. They each had their supportive role to play, and they would play it to the hilt, as always.

The files tumbled to the floor like so many leaves. "Oh, my Lord."

Every head rotated back. Bonnie had sunk into her chair and looked like she'd just been told that an alien spacecraft was hovering overhead.

Then she jerked up to stare about her in horrified disbelief. "Danny's in the hospital � _he's been shot!_ "

*****

"I apologize for the delay, Mr. President." Danny's voice echoed over the speakerphone on the executive desk. "The nurse here took a lot of convincing before she would call my editor for me, and then _he_ needed to be convinced before calling the White House."

"That's okay, Danny." Bartlet sat in the leather chair that was the closest thing to a throne in this country... leaning forward and giving this call his full attention. "There was also a bit of a delay on _our_ end over directing the call, as you can imagine." He hesitated for just the briefest moment. Of course, such a call should have gone through the Press Secretary first. "So how are you?"

"I'll pull through, sir. My shoulder hurts like hell, but it's not serious."

"A bullet wound is _always_ serious," Leo muttered. He knew that from direct and vicious experience in his youth.

So did Josh � and his experience was far more recent. His anxious features took on a paler cast at the harrowing memory.

The President shared that same personal knowledge, just as recent and just as painful. He tipped his head towards each of them in turn. "You've got a lot of sympathetic listeners here, Danny, I assure you. How bad is it?"

"Well, the doctor says it missed my lung by a good inch." The reporter's voice lightened a couple of degrees. "The biggest nuisance is that this is my writing arm. I'm gonna have some fun taking notes for the next while."

Bartlet flickered a grin. "Count your blessings; _we_ sure are. Do you feel up to telling us what happened?" Everyone heard the mixture of concern _and_ eagerness in his tone. "We'll understand if not � "

"No, sir, I've got to get this to you _now_."

Six pairs of eyes flickered around the Oval Office, meeting each other and drawing the obvious conclusion.

Carol couldn't prevent herself from expressing it. She felt honored to be in this historic chamber, privileged to take part in this discussion... She was involved way too deeply now: both with the man who'd given her so much support, and with the woman whose position she was trying to fill.

"Then it _is_ about CJ, isn't it?"

" _Oh_ , yeah. This is the breakthrough we needed."

Toby might have scowled just a bit more deeply at the use of "we," but otherwise he did not react.

"I'd just left CJ's place; I told the Secret Service I couldn't find anything out of place. I was on my way back to my office when I got this call on my cell from an unknown source. He said he'd heard a whisper about CJ being missing, and he knew someone else who might know something about it."

"All right!" Sam enthused at once. Everyone turned to him.

Danny's sigh could be heard easily over the connection. "No, Sam, I'm afraid not."

Sam froze in the moment of celebration and his face fell. No one _else_ was smiling.

"So I agreed to meet him in a quiet bar across town, and I promised not to tell anyone." Danny paused, and they could detect the soft rustle of bed-sheets as he shifted in place. "Man, I can't _believe_ I fell for that."

"Don't beat yourself up about it," the President advised quietly. "I think it's safe to say that any one of us here now would've done exactly the same thing." He glanced around his office and noted the confirming nods on all sides.

Another pause. "Thank you, sir." Danny took a deep breath. "Anyway, here I am walking down the street toward the rendezvous, and suddenly � "

He had to pause yet again. No one tried to hurry him.

"I'm afraid I wasn't much help to the police," he finally admitted. "I hardly saw a thing. Just one brief flash � then what felt like a really hard shove � and the next thing I know I'm face down on the pavement with my entire right side on fire."

Carol clamped a hand over her heart, her eyes the size of soup bowls. Josh, seated beside her, gave a soft grunt through clenched teeth, as though he'd just felt the impact himself.

Either Danny heard him, or else he guessed what an effect this description would have. "Josh, I can only guess what _you_ went through."

Bartlet gently forged ahead, for Josh's sake as much as anything else. "Go on, Danny."

"Yes, sir. I had a really hard time thinking much at all right then, but I knew enough to hold my breath. That wasn't easy: the shot and then the fall had knocked the wind right out of me. Then I heard footsteps approach... and then a man's voice. It was the guy who'd called me earlier. He set me up from the start. I was pretty hazy by this point, but I distinctly heard him say, ' _I'm sorry, but not for you... she's not for you. She's for ME. Claudia is MINE._ '"

Piercing silence greeted this simple conclusion.

Josh reacted first. " _Claudia?_ No one _ever_ calls her that! Only _me!_ Only _I_ am allowed to call her that!"

The President regarded him thoughtfully.

"Yeah, it took me a moment to figure out who he meant," Danny went on. "Meanwhile, I was doing my best to play dead, and I'm not ashamed of it." His voice dropped. "I was expecting at any second that he'd fire again, just to make sure."

Sam winced.

"Then all at once a couple of pedestrians were asking me if I was okay. They must've happened along just in time to scare the gunman off before he could finish the job."

Carol's breath wheezed out.

"And they called an ambulance," Leo summarized.

"Right. As soon as I could think straight again, I tried to get in touch with you."

Silence.

Bartlet let out a long, slow exhalation that seemed to build the tension rather than release it. His eyes were blue ice as he surveyed the room. "So, now we know the _real_ story."

Josh leaped to his feet, fists clenched. "It's a lunatic. Some _nutcase_ has kidnapped CJ � for _himself!_ "

Leo's mouth was a hard, grim line. "And God only knows where he's got her."

"Or what he'll _do_ to her!" Sam exclaimed.

"But she has to be alive, if he's willing to kill anyone he thinks is a rival for her... affections." That last word came from behind his marble façade like anathema... and his voice dropped to a deadstill whisper. Toby stood to one side with both arms folded, as though he was physically holding in his emotions. No one present could tell exactly what he felt most: rage, fear, or both in equal amounts.

"How do you anticipate someone who doesn't think rationally?" Sam asked the room at large. The thought of dealing with a deranged mind scared him almost as much as this added danger to CJ herself.

"Holy..." Josh had both hands clamped to his head, trying literally to squeeze out the haunting images that had lodged themselves there. _"He wants to possess her..."_

Danny's voice rose above this new wave of panic. Everyone heard the effort in his words, and everyone returned their focus to him. "I'm afraid there's one more complication � and it's my fault."

"What's that?" Bartlet demanded sharply.

The journalist hesitated. "Mr. President, I'm sorry." Did his voice reflect the merest hint of cracking just then? "But my editor knows I was shot, and he knows how badly I wanted to get in touch with you rather than him. He's guessed that there's something going on at the White House � something big. This whole thing can't stay under wraps much longer, no matter how badly we want it to."

*****

Leo filled the painful silence. "This is a whole new ball game now."

"What do we _do_?" Josh cried out in anguish.

" _Whatever_ we do, we'd damned well better do it _fast_."

"This guy must've been stalking her for ages. We'd have heard about it if she'd been getting any mail of her own, though." The Chief of Staff rubbed his tired eyes. "We can pull the security photos, have the Service look for a face that stands out in the crowd..."

"Let's go public," Sam proposed. "Appeal to anyone who might have seen _anything_."

"No, that might push this fruitcake too far. Who knows how he'll react?"

Josh spun around. "So instead we just let him _have his way?_ "

"The question is, do we run the risk of further unbalancing him in order to give CJ at least the chance of being found � or do we do nothing, not alert the media, for fear of making her situation worse?"

Leo shook his head. "We can't do _nothing_ , or else the kidnapper will be getting away with _two_ assaults � hers _and_ Danny's."

"But at least it won't increase her danger."

"How can we _know_ that? We don't even know how many times he's _already_ hurt her � "

"Josh � "

"We should launch a full-scale dragnet effort. Get every state involved."

"No way can we hide _that_ from the public," Leo pointed out.

"So don't try!" Sam protested. "Go national! Someone out there somewhere has to know _something!_ "

"There's still a hell of a lot of space to cover. By now she could be anywhere in the world. You plan to start with sifting through every single community in the United States?"

"The kidnapper will hear about it, too! Then what'll he do � run? Or hide? Or something even _worse?_ Like destroy the evidence � "

"Be _quiet_ , Josh!" Leo said that as kindly as he could... which was not very, considering what these repeated outbursts were doing to _all_ their nerves.

"Hey, if _you_ were his prisoner, wouldn't you prefer to know that people are looking for you? I _know_ CJ � she'd rather take that chance than _stay_ a prisoner."

"He does have a point..."

"We can't _abandon_ her, for God's sake!"

Leo hesitated, calculating multiple factors in his head. "But would a quieter approach still be better?"

"You mean _slower!_ "

"And a lot less risky. At least there'd be a chance of sneaking up on the guy, _before_ he can retaliate."

"Go on, say it � a lot less of a media circus, too! Like we _care_ anymore!"

"If your life was at stake, but the President of the United States doesn't know you personally, are you _worth_ the bother of a serious search and rescue?"

"Sam, will you forget the hypothetical! Forget the press! We've got to _find_ her! If that means tearing up every tree in every national forest, then let's _do_ it!"

"Here's a thought: could we use Danny for bait? The loony probably believes he killed him. What if he learns otherwise? His major rival is alive and well! Think we can lure him into a second attempt?"

  __

"Sam � !"

Leo sighed. "Get real. That kind of hospital trap only happens in the movies. Better to bury that whole angle for now. I _don't_ want to find out what learning about his failure there would do to this guy's unbalanced mind."

"If he takes it out on her..."

Sam groaned. "Will you please shut _up_ about that!"

"Well, how do _you_ think he's gonna want to celebrate his victory? He believes he's just eliminated the opposition, right?"

"Oh, _God_..."

" _Exactly!_ And you want write a dramatic arrest scene for this monster?"

"Can we do _anything_ to draw him away from her, even for a little while? Anything's better than leaving him to his own devices � "

  __

"All right."

Up until now the President had taken no part in this verbal wrestling match. He'd remained, a still and silent figure, behind that desk, hearing and evaluating each person's input. His expression was stone.

The three contenders turned to him in unison.

He looked each of them in the eye, as grave as they'd ever seen him.

"Toby."

Everyone else pivoted towards the Director of Communications, who still stood a few feet away. He, too, had stayed out of the discussion. His vision had wandered from the people actually present in the room and was clearly visualizing events he couldn't possibly see.

Even with his painful reverie shattered, he did not turn... only his eyes shifted, slowly and reluctantly, from the internal to the external debate.

"What do you think?" Bartlet asked, gently.

Toby said nothing for the longest time. However, the march of his thoughts could be read aloud. He was thinking all the same things they were � especially Josh � but he just couldn't bear to voice these fears... or even hear someone _else_ voice them.

"I don't know." His voice barely carried the length of the room. "We could kill her either way."

The bomb dropped, cutting right to the heart of the issue. No one dared so much as twitch.

The President held that dark, tormented vision for several more nerve-racking seconds.

Then his gaze dropped to his desktop... to his open hands, palms up, like a pair of judicial scales.

In one of them, he held CJ's life.

  __

Which one?

He turned them over, and placed them flat on the polished wooden surface.

"The ultimate decision is mine." He spoke softly, grimly, finally. Otherwise, the Oval Office was dead quiet.

"I accept the responsibility. I've heard the arguments. I've considered the risks. Now I have to make the choice."

Four men waited, every muscle taut, for his verdict.

Slowly, he swiveled around until he could look out the window. The metropolis of Washington, DC, and the entire country of America stretched out before him.

Somewhere out there was a woman in the direst peril. A woman he cared for. A woman he _had_ to find. A woman that was desperately needed here... by _all_ of them.

A woman that he could save... or condemn.

"And I'm _fully_ aware of precisely what hangs in the balance."

*****

Josh exploded out of the Oval Office and tore down the hall like an unguided missile. The air sizzled behind him. Sam hurried in his wake.

"Another delay. Now he has to _think_ on it. Damn it, _we're not moving fast enough!_ "

"Uh-huh."

"Call out the National Guard! Organize the local police forces! Hell, let's draft the _Boy Scouts_ while we're at it. Oh, and don't forget the FBI. And by the time we actually _get_ all these people to cooperate � !"

"Uh-huh."

"I was right all along. You guys kept saying that I was overreacting, that she'd be just fine. Remember that? _Do_ you?"

Sam hung his head even as he quick-stepped along. "Uh-huh."

Josh's strident voice acted as effectively as a trumpeter and herald. People got out of his way at once.

"I was right. I wish I _wasn't_ right! All those horrid things I've been imagining... God in heaven, what has he done to her? What _will_ he do to her?"

Sam did not reply that time. Never mind that his pal wouldn't hear a word � he simply had no idea what to say.

They approached Sam's office... and he saw his rescue standing there, waiting for him.

He wasn't sure at all if he should be relieved, or even _more_ uncomfortable.

"Mallory."

Leo's daughter leaned casually against the doorframe. Her smile contained just a touch of maliciousness, as it so often did around him lately. "Sam."

She looked at Josh next, and that smug attitude shifted into genuine friendship � tinged quickly with concern. "Josh! What's up?"

He barely registered her presence at all. _"Nothing."_ That one word projected all the fear and frustration it was possible for a man to feel.

Clearly Sam would be occupied for the next while. He'd been deprived of the principle target for his tirade. Groaning from the pain in his soul that suddenly had no outlet, Josh slouched off to his own office.

Sam watched him go, anxiety written in bold strokes on his youthful face. "Excuse me a moment." He stepped past Mallory and peered around the corner. Up ahead, Josh blew past Donna without even a glance. She at once leaped up and followed him.

Sam exhaled in momentary relief, then turned back.

"What's so fascinating about the hallway, Sam?"

"I was just checking on Donna."

Mallory's lips curved upwards again. "And why, may I ask, are you checking on Donna?"

About to invite her in, Sam paused to level a cold stare at his guest � and suddenly his features did not seem so young and idealistic to her as they had a moment ago.

"You know, if today wasn't one of the worst days I've ever spent in my life, I'd almost enjoy leaving you to wonder about that." His voice hardened. "But I'll be nice for a moment longer. Donna and I are spelling each other to keep an eye on Josh."

She considered this. "I can see why that's necessary � more so than usual today, in fact." She trailed behind as he headed for his desk. "What's wrong with him?"

"Actually, it's what's wrong with _us_." Sam made at least the pretense of politely holding the door for her, then shut it firmly. "CJ disappeared two mornings ago. We just found out that she appears to have been abducted by a psychopath."

Any smart-ass reply that Mallory might have been considering was destroyed by Sam's last statement. Her eyes widened.

Sam had taken the brunt of Josh's panic without complaint. Suddenly, away from his distraught friend, he had to get it out himself.

"It's not bad enough that we're missing our Press Secretary. Of course the press corps are chafing at the bit as to _why_ she's not here. They won't buy into this 'sick' routine much longer. Not to mention that Danny Concannon is currently recovering from a bullet wound in the hospital; the kidnapper did his damnedest to eliminate what he saw as the most obvious rival for CJ's heart."

"Sam?" Mallory's voice was very soft now.

He ignored it. He did not want to be comforted. He wanted to argue. "So what we have is a certified lunatic who wants CJ for himself, and we still have no idea _where_ he's taken her. Every effort by the FBI and the Secret Service has thus far turned up nothing. The President is about to decide whether he'll go national and instigate a countrywide search that will almost certainly tip off the kidnapper as well. This would also mean creating a media frenzy that we'll have no hope in hell of controlling, as well as a massive interstate effort between who knows how many different organizations and intelligence agencies, with a depressingly low likelihood of success."

"Sam..."

"Meanwhile, certain imaginations are running pretty wild by now. Josh hasn't slept or stopped yelling for a solid forty-eight hours � ever since we first noticed that CJ was not merely late for work. Trust me, you _don't_ want to know what Toby's mood is like right now. Leo's doing his level best to hold us all together, but even I haven't been making it any easier for him lately. I can't even fathom what the President is going through, or how he can still concentrate on his other responsibilities at all."

"Sam..."

"So, in summation, it's been somewhat hectic around here. Perhaps you can understand why I don't feel particularly obliging towards the friendly exchange you're no doubt intending to start. I'm busy sitting here and watching the White House tumble down, piece by piece."

"Sam."

Suddenly, he ran out of gas and fell silent. They stared at each other for several seconds: Sam breathing fast from both exertion and emotion, Mallory looking more compassionate than he'd ever seen her before.

"Are you okay?"

It took him another few seconds to even formulate a response.

"I don't _know_ how I am." His tone had completely changed. "I've never faced anything like this. I can't conceive of something so hideous happening to my friend." He looked away. "CJ's a member of our team. She's always looking out for us... for _me_."

Now that he didn't have the shield of information to hide behind, he sounded every bit as vulnerable and scared as he felt.

"I don't know anything about assaults on women, about how horrible they can be. How do I handle that? I don't _know_ anyone who's been through that!"

Mallory waited one long, deliberate heartbeat, and then reached out and placed her hand on his arm. Looking him straight in the eye.

"I think I can help with that. She'll need you to be strong when she gets back... but more than anything else, she'll need you to be _you_."

*****

"I am _not_ going to stay here and just placidly wait for results. You _can't_ make me."

Donna stood squarely in the door of Josh's office, a physical barrier to his escape. She looked more than a little strained herself, yet fully determined not to move aside from him.

"Yes, I can, and I will. That is, unless you intend to shove me aside." She braced herself a bit more firmly in place. He'd have to exert _real_ strength to get past her.

These two argued all the time; that was the foundation of their relationship. For some unknown and unfathomable reason he seemed to enjoy sparring with her, about any topic at all. But he _never_ lost his temper at her... and he never made any kind of a move to touch her that was in the least bit inappropriate.

She was banking that he wouldn't break either of those two cardinal rules now.

He was not himself today. He was a totally different person.

He kept prowling his none-too-spacious work area, not prepared to take that extreme step against her � yet. "I don't need a baby-sitter, Donna!"

"Yes, you _do!_ You're driving everyone up the wall, Josh! We're _all_ worried about CJ! But we have to keep functioning somehow!" Donna's voice was rising to match his. She could feel herself losing control � of both of them.

" _Why?_ Nothing we can do here is the slightest bit helpful! We've got to go out there and _find_ her!"

Donna took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. In the same deliberate manner, she forced herself to keep calm and speak quietly.

"It's not like _no one's_ looking. There are already people out there. _Lots_ of them. They have the training, the equipment and the manpower. They _will_ find her."

" _When?_ It can't _possibly_ be soon enough! Dammit, I should've been there for her! We're _family! A man protects his family!_ "

"Josh, you can't take the blame for this � "

"Just watch me! She's _gone_ , and I don't know where she is!"

Donna had always liked CJ a lot. Since both CJ and Josh were senior staff, they frequently traveled with the President � and since Josh couldn't hope to work effectively without Donna, she almost always went along as well. Often they would be the only two women on the trip; it was the most natural thing for them to spend time together.

Donna couldn't endure the thought that CJ might never come back. The very concept made her shake. Right now she almost welcomed Josh's neurotic ravings; her efforts to pacify him made it possible to shelve her own feelings. For now.

"She'll be all right. She _will_ , Josh. We _have_ to believe that."

"She could be anywhere! _ANYWHERE!_ " This time the windows rattled from the sheer volume. "Don't you get it? She's been gone more than two days! With enough money, you can get as far from the United States as it's possible to go without booking the shuttle!"

That marked the end of Donna's tight composure. The tears sprang up, stinging her eyes; she blinked them away furiously.

Josh paused in his incessant movements, and his head rotated in all directions, apparently looking for something. Then he locked onto the trashcan beside his desk. With an animal snarl and one savage kick he smashed it into the opposite wall. The metal clanged in protest at both impacts, scattering wads of paper left and right.

Donna cringed at the sudden, unanticipated blast of both noise and fury. She cringed again when he gave the can a second, even harder kick, crushing it almost flat and denting the wood it struck. The third kick was the hardest of all; the can glanced off the wall at an angle and went spinning across the room.

Silence returned. Josh stared at the mangled can. Donna stared at Josh. Not until she was sure that he had no further intention of pursuing the object of his rage did her breath ease out again, cautiously.

Josh had earned his reputation as a political force by his willingness to do battle � but he fought with words, not fists. This material violence was totally unlike him. Considering the everyday frustrations of a job like his, the nation should be grateful for that. Otherwise they'd be paying to refinish the White House on a weekly basis. Now, this overwhelming urge to destroy expended, he did not attempt an encore. He turned away from his assistant and just sort of collapsed against the wall, one shoulder and his head pressing into it... closed his eyes, and surrendered to his despair.

"CJ..."

Seconds threatened to stretch into minutes. Then Donna's hands were on his shoulders, gently steadying him.

"Josh. You're not in this alone. We all care. We're all doing our best, just like you. We're in this together. We have to _work_ together. If we do, we'll bring CJ back home for sure."

*****

A hand brazenly reached out and opened the door to Toby's office.

The occupant slammed down his pen in pure exasperation, but did not lift his head. "What part of _'Leave me alone'_ can you people _not_ understand?" he bellowed.

"Probably the part that I didn't hear," his visitor replied, his voice soft and quite unintimidated.

Toby solidified in his seat. His watch chimed the hour audibly in that strange silence.

  __

Ask not for whom the bell tolls...

Then he straightened, raising his eyes last of all.

"Rabbi."

The leader of his synagogue stood calmly on the threshold. Nothing about his general attitude hinted that this was his first visit to the White House.

"Toby."

For his part, the Communications Director showed no surprise in either expression or tone. The mask had descended back in place.

"What brings you here?" That had to be the most civil thing he'd said in two days.

"You."

Toby just looked at him, his stiff features betraying no hint of the surge of thought beneath.

"Would you like to come in?" he finally asked, rising to his feet. "Or would you like a tour? I don't suppose you've been here before."

Rabbi Glassman smiled. "Thank you for the offer. Perhaps another time; I know this is not a good day for you." He entered a few steps. Not once did he glance at his surroundings; he was fully focused on the man before him.

Toby could not help but be aware of that. He shifted self-consciously.

"I'm beginning to suspect that I know how you got in here in the first place."

"The security is most impressive. It's a wonder you don't feel caged at times." Glassman let the façade of social amenities fall away. "Yes, the President called me."

Toby threw a sharp glance to the left � unerringly in the direction of the Oval Office, less than a hundred feet away. Then he nodded, almost as though extending his gratitude to a man not present.

"I'll thank him later."

His words could be interpreted in a couple of different ways; _this_ man never took prying into his own feelings calmly.

"See that you do," his rabbi advised, with pointed emphasis. "He's worried about you, Toby. He's worried about _all_ of you � very much. He was sparing in his words... but he did say that you two share a great faith in God and humanity. Apparently, humanity has let you down, or at least you feel that it has, because you have pushed all human contact away. The President asked me to remind you of some truths... some things that maybe, in all of this turmoil, you've forgotten."

Silence.

Toby sighed. "He knows me better than I'd like."

"I'd take that as a compliment."

"I'm trying."

"It's not a mark of weakness to want to be with others in a difficult time. In fact, it's a fundamental part of human nature. We're pretty gregarious animals, you know."

"Well, it goes against _my_ nature."

Glassman did not respond to that claim aloud. He just stood there, waiting patiently for his offer of assistance to be either accepted or refused.

Abruptly, Toby spun on one heel and stepped back. It was a rather graceless welcome as invitations went, but it sufficed.

"Shall I?" The rabbi reached again for the doorknob. His host gave a curt nod. He closed the door gently and then crossed to the sofa.

Toby hesitated before taking a seat himself, hands in his lap, eyes downcast.

"Some day, I'll think back to my conversation with the President and really savor it." Pause. "Just not now. I'm worried about you too, Toby. I know you well enough myself; you're not about to open up on personal matters to anyone. But if you internalize things too much, if you keep those feelings trapped inside..."

"They'll explode. I know." Toby flicked a guilty glance aside. 

Glassman raised an eyebrow, but judged that the obvious comment would not be beneficial.

"This member of your staff who's missing... CJ?"

Toby closed his eyes. "She's so much more than that. The five of us have been with the President since the campaign. We work well together. Each of us has come to know how the others think. We've built a mechanism here that relies on each person's unique skills. Take away one element and the whole machine suffers." _That's all_ , his tone implied.

"Did you know CJ before that?"

Pause. "Yes... for a few years. Casually." Toby leaned forward, elbows on knees, head bowed. "In fact, I brought her onto the campaign."

"And if she weren't on the presidential staff, this wouldn't have happened? Toby, you're too intelligent to believe that you're in any way to blame."

"It's... more complicated than that." Toby exhaled heavily, as though he hoped he could evict his guilt at the same time. "I've been pretty cavalier with her at times. Around here. About business."

Silence.

"That kind of approach makes an effective smoke screen, doesn't it?" the rabbi commented softly, perceptively, and got his confirmation in the form of a wince.

"There's something else." Toby's voice dropped almost below the audible range. "A man was shot today. From what his assailant said, we now know that CJ's been abducted... by a lunatic who wants her for himself."

Pause. "Uh-oh."

"Yeah. And that's _still_ not all." Toby did not move. "That man was shot because he was believed to be CJ's boyfriend."

He didn't need to say another thing.

"Is he?" Glassman asked that question _very_ gently.

"No." Pause. "He never was, not really. They flirted... but..."

This time the rabbi waited him out.

"But because that guy was _perceived_ as her boyfriend, he drew the fire." Each sentence came slowly and with effort, and each subsequent pause between them was longer. "I'm sorry he was hurt. I'm glad he learned that crucial fact and was able to tell us. I'm jealous that he was seen as the biggest threat. I'm grateful that the gunfire wasn't directed at _me_. And I'm... devastated at the implications of this turn of events. All of the different ways that she could be hurt are staggering."

Toby closed his eyes again and let his head drop even lower.

In the silence, the older man gently gripped his shoulder as it began to tremble with the power of his tears.

*****

Mallory approached her father's office somewhat cautiously.

"Margaret?"

Leo's secretary looked up at once. "Oh, Mallory! Am I glad you're here. Maybe you can do something for him. God knows, I've tried."

Leo's daughter did not ask for further clarification. That in itself indicated that she already knew what was going on today.

"We'll see." Mallory headed for the chamber beyond, giving Margaret a light touch on one arm in support.

"Dad."

"Hey, honey." Few people could ever claim to be busier than the White House Chief of Staff, but Leo always made a point of rising to greet his little girl with a hug at least. Not today, however; he barely glanced up from his paperwork.

"Looks like you need a break." She never ceased to be amazed at the sheer volume of work ever before him.

"Mal, if the break is with you, I'd love it � but I just don't have the time today. I'm sorry." He still didn't look right at her.

She waited a calculating moment, watching him closely.

"I heard about CJ."

She saw it: his pen slowed, and his mouth tightened. But otherwise he stubbornly refused to admit to anything.

"Yeah. And we now know why. The question is _where_. I'll probably have another meeting with the Secret Service and I don't know who else as soon as the President decides what to do next."

Mallory folded her arms in her best teacher's lecturing pose. "Dad, you really don't have to play the responsible adult right now. You _are_ allowed to show some emotion about a crisis like this."

Leo sighed, letting the weight of both their thoughts settle across his shoulders... and then again resumed his writing. "I don't have time for _that_ , either. The entire senior staff is virtually paralyzed. _Someone_ has to keep this place going. No choice in the matter."

"You _can_ take a moment and acknowledge the fact that you _care!_ "

Now he lifted his head to glare at her. "I _do_ care! CJ must have been physically assaulted at least once at the start of this, and she'll almost certainly be _sexually_ assaulted before the end! Can you even imagine that? I don't dare � the idea makes me positively ill."

Mallory opened her mouth... and then shut it again, clearly deciding that this was not an appropriate moment for whatever she'd been about to impart. She changed gears.

"I just saw Sam."

"How's he doing?" No teasing came through, light _or_ serious, about any attraction she might feel for the Deputy Communications Director. Leo had returned his focus to his desk; he'd already guessed what the response would be.

"Holding on � just. And if he feels that bad, you must feel _worse_."

Her father sighed again. "Mallory..."

"Come _on_ , Dad; stop hiding behind your work for a minute!" She drew nearer, one measured step at a time. "You think of these people like they're your younger siblings � or even your children. You and the President both. The difference is, he admits it and you _don't!_ Well, it's high time you did. Especially about CJ. I've been around here often enough to know. You've been friends for over two years now! She's fought her way to the top of a male-oriented world, and you really admire her for it. Don't lock that away � you're only handicapping yourself, and you're sure not doing _her_ any good!"

Sudden silence crashed down between them.

Slowly, Leo shook his head, looking almost bemused. "Not many fathers get a dressing-down like that."

His daughter smiled, briefly. "I get paid to fuss at people."

At last he sat back and gave her his full attention. "I've seen war, Mallory. War in all its ugliness. But even so, I'm still having a hard time understanding this kind of nightmare. I'm also seeing its second-hand effects on other people who really care for CJ as well. I've got three colleagues who can't think of anything else. I've got a President about to make one of the most heart-wrenching decisions of his career. I have to deal with an entire government that has no possible hope of understanding what we're going through. _The very last thing_ I can face right now is my own feelings about this. It's better for everyone if I _just don't_."

He looked away.

Mallory did too. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Then he corrected himself. "It _will be_ all right."

She hesitated to break this next silence... but she had to know.

"Are _you_ going to be all right? You're not..." She couldn't bring herself to finish.

Leo turned back to her. He knew exactly what she meant, and his whole expression changed. "Not yet."

  __

That was hardly reassuring at this critical time.

Then he gazed into space again, the many layers of turmoil echoing in his voice. "But I can't remember the last time I wanted a drink as badly as I do right now."

*****

The Oval Office was not empty, but from the silence it could have been.

The President sat in one of the armchairs, elbows propped on the handsomely carved wooden arms, fingers steepled against his lips, eyes closed.

"Jed?"

He did not react at first, as though he was just too exhausted to be startled any more.

Closing the door behind her, Abbey Bartlet took two more steps forward � and stopped short when she saw his pose.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she almost whispered. "Am I interrupting a..."

"Prayer?" Her husband lowered his hands and raised his head. "Yeah, but it's okay. I'm sure I'll be picking it up again before long."

Taking this for permission, she walked slowly over. He rose to meet her, and they moved into each other's arms as naturally as though they belonged nowhere else.

After a few seconds, he drew back. "Abbey, I owe you an apology." His eyes were weary, and guilty. "While you were away I was driving you nuts calling you every few hours... and now that you're back I've paid almost no attention to you at all."

"Shh, that's all right � "

"No, it isn't. I want you to know that even though I haven't spent much time with you, just the knowledge that you're here has been a tremendous strength to me. You're my rock, Abbey. Never doubt that for an instant."

She could see the lines on his face that physical and mental fatigue had deepened. "I never have. I just wish I could _really_ help."

He looked away. "I don't think _anyone_ can now. This is my decision alone." His gaze returned, as it so often had over these last two days, to the tall windows, the snow-swept city, and the world beyond.

Gently, Abbey shifted her hold from embracing to guiding. "Come on; let's sit down."

The President allowed himself to be steered towards the nearer sofa. His wife settled beside him, her hand still on his arm.

"This has been pretty rough on you."

He grunted. "And I know how close _you_ are with CJ, too." Abbey nodded. "And have you seen any of the staff? If this drags out for one more day, there won't be anything left for CJ to come back to!"

"But she _is_ coming back."

"That depends on what I do next."

The following pause was broken by Jed's tired exhalation. "This happens every time one of those guys does something silly. I get all protective and territorial. You'd think I was running a foster home. If it's not Sam getting his picture taken, it's Josh mouthing off at the wrong people or Toby picking the biggest fight he possibly can. Hell, I've been protective of Leo, too � and I _certainly_ have reason to keep my eye on Charlie." He rubbed his aching forehead. "CJ's the only person I've _never_ had to worry about."

"You've kept her in the dark more than once," Abbey reminded him with just a touch of accusation.

His eyes drifted shut. "Yeah. But she always fixed things afterwards. I couldn't tell you how many times she's covered our mistakes and put a positive spin on our uncertainties. Or how many times she's helped me hold this bunch of mavericks in line."

His wife held her peace.

"Abbey, you've always known that ever since I started into politics my greatest fear has been that someone would try to use my family as leverage against me. I've prayed so often that I would never have to deal with such a threat to our children, or � God forbid � to you." He looked at her, and then aside again. "Well, I honestly feel today that it's happened at last. I feel exactly the way I've always been afraid I would feel if one of my daughters had been kidnapped. Of course, I can't act that way because it's _not_ my daughter, but still � "

Abbey's grip on his arm tightened.

"And now... what should I _do_ about it? I don't have to play political hotfoot any longer. I don't have to balance the welfare of the whole nation against one life. I'm free to unleash all of the impressive power at my command. _And I WANT to!_ " His hands closed into fists. "I want to send out the militia! I want to turn over every chunk of earth in the country! I want to raise up the whole populace against this lunatic! And I _can_ do all of this!" He stopped to bring his breathing back under control. "But is that the _right_ thing to do?"

His hands opened. He studied them... again, like scales: balancing the possibilities, and the consequences.

"If I go about this wrong..."

Neither of them dared to finish that sentence.

Abbey braced herself. "Jed, I'm not going to ask you if you want my advice. You're getting it anyway."

His head rotated her way... and that might have been a gleam of hope in his eyes � hope that she could help him find the answer.

"Women survive being assaulted. But nations do not recover from gratuitously violent or knee-jerk Commanders-in-Chief."

Silence.

His brows drew down. "That's rather cold, Abigail." He must have been seriously put off by her analytical approach; his use of her full name was always a warning sign.

"Occasionally you have to pare things down to their primal elements," she retorted. "It seems to me that _not_ telling the press is what's hurting CJ the most. Once the truth gets out there, someone somewhere is going to remember _something_. It could be as simple as a man driving around with a woman who appears to be hurt or asleep. You can tap into a huge resource there, and make it impossible for him to hide any longer."

She grasped her husband's shoulders and turned him to face her squarely. "I know that your impulsive reactions speak to the desires of your heart � but sooner or later your sense of justice makes sure that the greater good will prevail. You can use your authority without abusing it. Martial law is not the answer. Appeal to the people; don't dictate to them."

They sat there, staring into each other's eyes for what felt like an age of the universe.

Finally, some of the indecision bled away, and he managed the smallest hint of a smile.

"You do realize what _some_ people are going to think, if I'm so desperate to find this particular woman..."

She laughed shortly, not in the least bit worried. "If you were looking for _that_ reason, you'd sure as hell go about it more discretely. I think I can handle any public fallout on that angle."

His grin increased. "I _know_ you can." The tenderness in his eyes grew as well. "Thanks, Abbey."

She smiled back, and pulled him into another hug.

*****

"Hey."

Charlie almost leaped out of his chair. "Hey!" His dark face was split by a broad smile at the arrival of the President's daughter.

Zoey acted rather more restrained. "How are you?"

He threw an automatic glance to one side, but Mrs. Landingham had stepped away from her desk for the moment. That privacy gave him extra confidence. "I'm great. You?"

His girlfriend shuffled her feet for a moment. "Okay, I guess."

Charlie looked more closely at her, puzzled by the absence of her usual warmth around him.

"Um, can we talk?" she asked.

"Uh � sure." He pulled a spare chair over for her. They both sat, just a few inches apart.

She may have opened the discussion, but now he felt compelled to begin it. "Look, Zoey, I'm sorry I didn't come to see you before. I wanted to as soon as they got you back here from the dorm... but you know how much strain your dad's been under lately, and I really didn't want to take off on him..."

"Charlie, it's okay." She did smile this time. "That's not what I meant. I know you've been kind of chained to this spot for the past couple of days. It's all right."

He relaxed in considerable relief. "Thanks."

The pause lengthened.

She turned briefly towards the closed door to the Oval Office. "What's going on inside?"

"They're setting up the telecast. The President goes live in just a few minutes."

"Oh. Right. One o'clock news."

"Yeah. He's already fired up every state within four hundred miles. And we have people on the phone constantly, coordinating the search teams involved." Charlie shook his head in wonder. "Amazing how fast you can mobilize this country."

"When there's a good enough reason," she added quietly.

He peered sideways. "Zoey?"

She took a long time to meet his eye.

"What's bothering you?"

She hesitated, then took a deep breath. "CJ's been like... a favorite aunt to me."

He winced. "Aw, man, I didn't realize."

"Yeah. I've known her since the campaign... and she's covered for me a couple of times when I said something in public that I shouldn't have." Zoey directed her gaze downward.

Charlie gave a slow nod of perfect understanding. "Me, too."

The First Daughter looked up again. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Remember the green beans? I'm the one who let that slip. She took the heat for me. She told your dad that _she'd_ leaked it."

Zoey blinked. "She lied to my father?"

Charlie grinned. "Right in the Oval Office."

"Wow." Pause. "Well, did you hear about the time she _yelled_ at him?"

"She _did?_ Man, she's got guts."

"Oh, yeah." Zoey rolled her eyes at the memory. "A reporter cornered me on campus. I shouldn't have answered him, but I wanted to protect a friend. CJ called me on it... and then she had to tell my dad about it. He hit the roof � he was all set to blast the entire press corps. If he had, it would've made a big story and a _bad_ one. She really got in his face that time."

"Sorry I missed _that_." Charlie pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I'm getting the picture why the senior staff are so upset. The President, too."

The levity had faded. "You haven't been around her as long. She's _part_ of us."

"I'm seeing that."

He waited, watching his girlfriend in sympathetic silence.

Zoey started to tear up, and her voice trembled. "I don't understand. Isn't it bad enough that people have to shoot at us? Now a maniac has just come in and taken her away, to do who knows _what_ to her. _How_ can anyone _do_ such a thing to another person?"

He picked up her hands and held them firmly in his. "I don't know."

*****

The watery rays of a mid-afternoon sunset in winter slanted across the south face of the White House. The snow had finally stopped, and the city workers were making visible progress digging out their besieged capital city.

Mrs. Landingham entered the Oval Office, as quiet and businesslike as always. "Mr. President."

"What now?" Bartlet stood behind his desk, scanning one report after another. Clearly he was too charged � or too stressed � to sit down at this time.

"Another fax for you, sir."

"Good. _Thank_ you." He met her halfway and almost snatched it out of her hand.

"Yes, sir. I know how promptly you want these."

"Do I ever." He started reading at once.

"May I say, sir, your broadcast went very well."

"Yeah. Now if only it accomplishes what it's _supposed_ to." He started wandering away, nose to the paper.

Only when he'd covered half the room did it dawn that the presence behind him had not yet departed. He stopped and turned. His secretary still stood on the carpet, hands folded, demurely watching him.

He regarded her over the tops of his reading glasses. "Was there something else?"

She seemed to consider this very deliberately. "I was wondering if you'd mind sharing the progression of the search with me, sir."

Nothing about her reserved, patently unflappable demeanor changed in the least. But the meaning behind that request could not be misinterpreted.

The President was so surprised that he removed his spectacles completely, the better to see her. "Did my ears just deceive me? Did I actually hear you express a _personal_ interest in the goings-on of this office?"

Her head tipped three degrees. "I didn't say that, sir."

He approached her, trying not to smile � the gravity of the subject could not be forgotten for any length of time � but his blue eyes definitely twinkled. "Come on, Mrs. Landingham. You're like a surrogate mother to every person here, including _me_. And I know you've always had a soft spot for CJ, being the two senior women staffers around. It's just wonderful, though, to hear you finally admit to it." One eyebrow waggled. "But don't worry; your secret is safe enough."

She gave him a tolerant look. "Sir..."

"Right." He knew better than to push his luck with this particular employee. He replaced his glasses and turned to the latest report... and the tremendous pressures of his office reasserted themselves at once.

"Looking good. It's already all over the news networks. We've got every state in the Union involved now. The press will be briefed again at the last minute so that the next edition is as up-to-date as possible. The Secret Service are coordinating everything. Every whisper out there will come here _fast_."

"It sounds like an efficient operation, Mr. President."

"It had _better_ be � CJ's life depends on it."

Mrs. Landingham did not agree with him aloud; her silence took care of that.

Bartlet lowered the paper and removed his glasses again, slowly. "It's far too late to second-guess myself, but I sure hope I haven't just made the biggest mistake of _my_ life."

"Sir... I think there's something else that you may need to consider."

He revolved. It was not a normal part of his secretary's job to offer advice, and she almost never stepped beyond the boundaries of her position. When she did, he knew to listen. "What's that?"

She regarded him solemnly. "By going after Danny, the kidnapper did exactly what he was trying to avoid all along: drew attention to CJ's disappearance. He may well attempt to stop the threat of this search... at the source." She paused, and not even her famed reticence could fully mask the concern within. "He may now have a new target, sir. _You_."

Bartlet sighed, then nodded. His eyes shifted towards the window. "I already thought about that. This guy just might be crazy enough to think that way. He wouldn't be far wrong, either. And I know I'm not invulnerable � or inaccessible."

The Chief Executive of the United States drew himself up. "I'm having a hard time getting worked up over my _own_ safety right now. Besides, we pay other people to do that. _Nothing_ is going to prevent me from finding CJ and bringing her safely home!"

Again his secretary refrained from saying the obvious.

Having taken that vow, Bartlet closed his eyes and tilted his head back, as though turning his face to the warmth of the sun. Several seconds of private contemplation ticked past. The hand of the Almighty, fate or luck weighed heavily in this equation.

Then his eyes opened. Almost directly above him, cast right into the elaborate ceiling of the Oval Office, was a plaster relief of the Presidential Seal.

He studied it a moment, then exhaled through clenched teeth, his shoulders slumping. "I can't even lift my gaze towards Heaven without running into yet another symbol of my responsibilities."

"Yes, sir," his secretary agreed softly, in vivid sympathy. She turned to go.

"Thank you, Mrs. Landingham." Shaking his head, he headed back to his desk, once again immersed in the report.

His phone rang before he could sit down. He reached absently for it, still perusing the latest data. "Yes."

About to open the door, Mrs. Landingham paused for one more second. Just in case.

All at once the President spun around, his whole posture one of instant alertness, giving the phone his undivided attention. _"Go on."_

*****

"We've got the Roosevelt Room set up as our war room, with all the equipment and the manpower in place. There are fifteen separate phone lines: five governors' offices to a line, plus the Secret Service, the FBI, the CIA and two out-bounds. Every call is being logged. Any possible sightings will be marked on the wall maps. Others in the Mural Room are tracking the media, public reaction and general information calls." Leo could have been planning a military offensive.

"I just came from there," Sam interjected. "Several people have already phoned in with messages of support." He shook his head, as though hardly able to believe that.

"They _like_ her." Josh didn't say that as though it surprised _him_ , but rather as if he'd always known it for a fact.

"They'd be fools not to," Toby murmured, so softly that the others barely heard him.

The door leading to the Oval Office swung silently open, drawing all four that way.

The President stood in the aperture. His face was like a chunk of wood, and they could see how tense he was � like a spring coiled right to the snapping point.

"They found CJ's car."

Josh and Sam sprang to their feet. Leo and Toby moved closer to complete the horseshoe.

"A rural spot in Pennsylvania, just west of Williamsport. Clinton County."

Four pairs of eyes widened. Four sets of lips parted in sheer suspense.

"It went through the ice of a small lake. It's almost completely submerged."

Leo's brows descended in dread.

Sam's brows shot up in fright.

Josh leaned forward.

Toby leaned back.

They all saw it now: agony.

Jed Bartlet held his breath for one more tortured heartbeat � then it burst out of him.

"And she's still inside."

~*~*~*~*~


	7. Sonata in C MaJor 7

**Sonata in C MaJor**

**by: SheilaVR**

**Character(s):** CJ  
**Category(s):** General  
**Rating:** MATURE  
**Disclaimer:** Warmest thanks to Aaron Sorkin, Warner Bros., NBC, et al for graciously allowing us to expand upon their patented creation at no extra charge.  
**Summary:** CJ disappears without a trace...   
**Spoiler:** After "Galileo".  


* * *

***

**Requiem**

Requiem (n.): finale (from Latin: _to rest_ )

A man sat at his desk, elbows on the blotter, head buried in his hands in the universal pose of utter grief.

The silence was broken by a faint weeping.

Leo raised his head and lowered his hands. Tragedy seamed his haggard features. He blinked a couple of times.

After a pause, the heartbreaking sound resumed. It came from the office right outside his.

Slowly, he rose and walked that way.

Margaret pressed a tissue to her mouth, trying to muffle the next sob. She was too overcome to notice his presence.

Leo's hand descended gently on her shaking shoulder. She didn't jump in the least. Sorrow can be a powerful anesthetic.

"Hey." His tone rarely got this soft. "It's all right to cry."

She brushed at her damp eyes, sniffled, then reached for a page before her. "I-I was okay � until I got this." She handed it over, still not looking at him.

He accepted it with foreboding, pulled out his glasses and settled them in place. The words were there: hard and sharp and undeniably real.

"The frozen body of a Caucasian female, six feet tall, late thirties, auburn hair, was extricated from the driver's seat and taken to the local..."

Margaret couldn't muffle a moan. Leo was almost glad; that gave him a reason to stop before his own voice broke. He had some trouble breathing.

"God, what a clinical description..."

It said nothing about the strength of her spirit, the skill at her job, the way she always stood by her beliefs, the compassion she displayed towards others...

He forced himself to peruse the rest. "The hole in the ice was spotted by a state trooper on the highway. Her purse, her cell phone, her pager, her garage key � all accounted for."

Margaret did her best to speak without strangling. "I... took it down over the phone. I was doing just fine... until I hung up."

He sighed and folded the report in half, so he wouldn't have to look at those words again.

"Leo?" His secretary sounded like a tiny child, seeking reassurance from wherever it could be had. He removed his glasses and faced her. "Were we wrong? _Did_ she just lose control and skid off the road? Has she been dead all this time, before we even _noticed?_ "

"No." His voice now contained solid steel. "She didn't die in a simple, unfortunate accident. We know she was abducted. The accident scene is an illusion. It was deliberate murder, by a madman... most likely because he feared the escalating search."

Margaret let out a whimper. _"We did this to her."_

"We did what we honestly believed was right," her boss corrected, gently. He hated the phrase's hollow sound, but said it anyway. It was the only possible comfort he could provide. "We all did our very best to help her."

He sounded like _he_ needed more convincing than she did.

"How... how is the President?"

Leo glanced towards the Oval Office. At this moment his best friend was on the other side of that closed door... confronting his own demons. "Don't ask. He's blaming himself personally. He made the final decision."

Margaret looked that way too, sympathetic despite her own sense of loss.

The Chief of Staff shook his head. "He can't face any of his staff yet... and he has no idea what he'll say to CJ's relatives." Pause. "His wife and daughter are with him now. Maybe they can all hold each other together."

Leo touched his secretary's arm. "Just like we do."

She managed to half-smile up at him.

But what she saw...

"Leo � ?"

That was genuine fear in her voice this time.

He turned away, projecting undiluted hopelessness. "We lost the battle. We lost it with her kidnapper, and we lost it with ourselves. We lost it for her." His eyes closed against the glare of memory. "I just want to get rid of the pain."

He knew _one_ method. It would be a temporary respite, and a disastrous one � but _anything_ to dull this supreme ache, even for a short time...

Margaret clenched her teeth in fresh apprehension as she watched him walk listlessly out of the office.

*****

The corridors were unnaturally quiet. The news had spread with unbelievable speed. The scent of mourning hung like a pall over the entire West Wing.

Leo moved slowly towards Communications. Almost every woman he saw showed signs of recent tears. No one rushed about in a frenzy to get their work done. No one said a thing they didn't have to. Many didn't speak above a whisper. Many sat at their desks, gloomily trying to focus, with little success.

There would be an official announcement in another hour or so. There would be a funeral in a couple of days, but the _real_ grieving was now.

The degree of suffering increased tangibly on the faces he passed as he drew closer to the area where CJ had always worked...

"Leo!"

Sam advanced like a prizefighter with blood in his eye. Fire snapped under lowered brows, and his hair and tie were both in disarray. Muscles knotted from the tightness of his shoulders and fists.

"I've got to go out there. I am going to comb every inch of the country if I have to! I will hunt that killer down myself and tear his heart out!"

Leo studied him wearily. He preferred this seething rage to the overpowering sadness everywhere else, but at the moment he just didn't have the energy to deal with it. There would be time later to channel that passion effectively.

"Don't worry, Sam. We'll go after him soon enough, and I will be more than happy to help you do precisely that. But not right now. I need you here."

"What � you want to sit around and weep while the trail gets cold?" Grief had pushed Sam beyond all caution, all reasoning. "We have to get him _now!_ Any further delay and he'd get away clean!"

That possibility hurt almost as much as the crime committed. The embers of Leo's outrage, nearly smothered by crushing sorrow, flared anew.

"No. He. Won't." 

Sam heard the unyielding iron in those bitten-off words. His fury settled a bit, less flaring and more burning.

"Finding this guy is our next task," Leo stated with no uncertainty or self-doubt in the least. "It'll be our way of honoring her memory."

Sam's expression shifted towards a fiery eagerness. He was about to be unleashed. 

"But it can wait five minutes." The resolve drained away from Leo's posture. "Get everyone together."

For one second the Deputy Communications Director looked ready to defy all authority and charge off on a savage vendetta by himself, at once. But then, gradually, he acceded to the demands of the present. His chance would come. Soon.

Leo moved past him and into the bullpen. Everyone already knew he was there. Everyone sat quietly, miserably at their places, red-rimmed eyes on him, and waited.

He paused to look upon them... and silently nodded. It seemed to surpass understanding how so much emotion could be transmitted in so simple a gesture.

He went on through. Behind him a phone rang, but someone snatched it up at once to stop that horridly intrusive sound.

Two dark, seated human forms could be discerned in Josh's dimly-lit office... silent and still.

"Donna."

Her head turned. Tears tracked down her face, but she had herself in hand. Having another person rely so totally upon you helps bolster your strength to cope.

Josh sat motionless in his chair. His face was totally blank, as though in a trance. He gave no sign at all that anything in this world could ever reach him again.

Leo's features flinched in pity.

He inclined his head towards the bullpen outside. Donna got the message, stood and reached over to drag Josh upright. She got no resistance in the least... but no animation, either.

The remaining staffers had gathered by the time Leo reappeared, a Donna-supported Josh in his wake. Sam stood to one side like a foreman, twitching in his obsessive need to act _now_.

"Where's Toby?"

Sam waved his hands, unable to be still for anything. "He... left the building."

"Where'd he go?"

"No idea."

Leo rolled his eyes. "Someone call him back here. I don't want us scattering to the four winds. We still have work to do."

  __

"Work?" Sam repeated in scathing disbelief. He glared at Josh, whom Donna had just placed physically into a chair. She never moved beyond arm's reach of him. He didn't make a sound or the slightest flicker of expression.

"How can you think of work now? Do you think any of us are up to it? Let's find that murdering lunatic and roast him alive! Let's nail him to the front door of the White House! _Then_ we can talk about work!"

"That's next," Leo promised him quietly. The quietness did not mask the determination to _keep_ that promise for all time. "This is first." He rotated. "Carol..."

CJ's stand-in cringed in her seat.

"Think you'll be okay as the Interim Press Secretary?" Leo almost whispered.

She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm... not looking forward to my first press briefing under that title," she whispered back. She was going to have to stand in front of the White House Press Corps, and the entire world, and say...

"I know." Leo regarded her averted face for a few moments. Then he straightened.

"I'm off to the Williamsport morgue."

Absolute silence.

He exhaled, growing older before their eyes. "I want to spare the family that ordeal, at least."

Sam stepped forward. "I'll come."

"No, you won't."

"That's where they found her � that's where that maniac is likely to be. I'm going to take him apart, one bloody piece at a time." Sam announced this with such quiet ferocity that not one person present doubted his intention to do precisely that.

"Sam, you're staying _here_." By now Leo's voice had acquired a distinct edge. "There has to be _one_ person around who can still think straight."

"I'm _NOT_ letting this guy get off scot-free!" Sam howled.

"No, you're not. You're holding this place together until I get back, thereby making it possible for this nation to function. Because if it doesn't, he _will_ get away."

"We can do _nothing_ for CJ here � except _mourn!_ " 

They stood toe to toe, their wills clashing like sword-blades. Sam showed no indication of giving in at all. Leo simply refused to let him pursue the issue.

"And en route... I'll drop in on Danny."

Sam's next protest died in his throat.

Leo gauged the moment carefully. "All right." He stepped back, in effect handing over the reins.

"We're always going to blame ourselves for this." Sam's volume and force had dwindled away in defeat. " _We_ drove the kidnapper to commit such an act."

Leo just looked at him. Everyone else looked at Leo.

"Ours is the responsibility of wielding power. It can be a heady rush... or a curse."

Clearly Sam didn't find much comfort in this. There was simply none to be had.

Carol's phone rang, yet another reminder that, no matter what happened or how much it hurt, life had to move onward.

Leo took that as his cue to go. He faced a lonely four-hour drive to claim the body of a dear friend... but it was his responsibility. They simply had to deal with these next few hours and days in all their anguish.

Carol's shriek rang through the entire office. Everyone jumped and whipped around as she practically threw the phone receiver across her desk.

The expression on her face was pure terror.

Everyone froze, staring at the dangling instrument. Even Josh took notice. They all could hear faint, unintelligible shouting from the other party.

No thought would come, to _any_ of them.

Frowning, Leo stepped that way, lifted the receiver and held it to his ear. Every pair of eyes in the place was fastened on him.

They saw the shock hit. They saw him actually stagger a bit. They saw him lower the receiver in stunned silence, and then, dazedly, reach for the speaker button.

  __

"Carol?" Now the voice on the line came through loud and clear. _"Carol � !"_

Sam, Donna, Bonnie, Ginger � all of them stood or sat as still as statues. Eyes huge.

The only one who could move was Josh. He pushed himself out of his chair, inch by inch. Life had returned to his formerly catatonic features. His entire being was locked onto that small black metal object.

He could barely say it � as if afraid that just saying it aloud would chase the hope away, forever.

"CJ?"

  __

"Josh? What, am I on the speaker? Carol, you still there too? What happened?"

Heads slowly turned. Everyone saw the exact same look of total disbelief on all sides.

"CJ?" Josh repeated just a bit louder.

  __

"Unless Carol has taken to screaming when she answers EVERY call � yeah, it's me." Even through the layers of exhaustion, that dry sense of humor confirmed the identity of the caller.

"CJ!" Josh exclaimed in pure jubilation.

  __

"Josh, if I start repeating your name endlessly as well, can we finally move on to something else?"

Somehow, Leo found his voice in turn. He even managed to keep it fairly even � through the virtue of utter incredulity.

"We'd... just been informed that you were dead."

  __

"Oh?" Pause. _"Oh � guys... I'm sorry."_ A tired sigh. _"Well, if you saw me right now, you'd probably think so."_

Sam slid back into character with record speed. "That was after we'd heard that you were a hostage at your gym."

Smiles were breaking out on all fronts.

  __

"The gym?" Another pause. _"Well, I guess you have a lot to tell me, huh?"_ Another sigh. _"Anyway, I'll be there as soon as I can."_

" _YES!_ " Josh shouted at the top of his lungs.

No one had any doubt that the eruption of laughter and cheers carried through the phone to the person on the other end, and told her everything.

*****

A man stood, alone and silent and still as a statue, on the river's very edge.

At this time of night regular traffic had little reason to take Ohio Drive, and no pedestrians were in sight. The distant hum of those few cars still commuting seemed to be muffled further by the soft snow and the seclusion.

Behind and to his right rose the Lincoln Memorial in all its spotlit splendor; a tribute to another American who had died far too soon.

Before him lapped the black, ice-rimmed waters of the Potomac.

He did not actually watch the waves, or anything else. His mind was empty... his soul was crushed and lifeless.

A light wind from the north ruffled the wings of his long overcoat and pushed against his back... almost as though it was trying to nudge him forward.

Something trilled � a bright, cheerful sound totally inappropriate to this time of desolation.

He ignored it.

It trilled on, again and again, no louder, no faster, but by its sheer persistence increasing in urgency.

At last he couldn't endure it any longer. He pulled the offending mechanism from his pocket. It continued to ring as he stared darkly at it. In a fit of sudden anger, he drew his arm back. One good throw would consign it to the depths of the river for all eternity.

He couldn't care less what message it held. He did _not_ want to hear it.

  __

Nothing mattered anymore.

But then, at the last, he yielded. Whether from habit, or second thoughts, or simply closure, even he could not be sure.

It must have been the twelfth buzz before he finally answered.

His tone was as unwelcoming as the frigid waters before him. "I'm only going to say this once. Leave me � "

  __

"She's alive!"

Silence.

  __

"Toby, do you hear me?" Sam's voice reverberated through the tiny speaker. _"CJ is alive � and she's coming back!"_

The phone dropped into the snow with a soft "plop," making the same kind of sound as the footsteps accelerating away from that lonely place.

*****

The spacious, richly-decorated guestroom was one that the public never saw, save in pictures. As a rule, only members of the First Family and diplomatic visitors � and, of course, the White House general maintenance staff � got this opportunity. The tall windows commanded a stunning elevated view of the South Lawn and the unmistakable landmarks beyond. It was a view absolutely unique in all of Washington, DC, and no occupant could forget exactly where he or she was at the time.

The current occupant of this room gazed out one of those windows, but the beauty of America's capital at night escaped his notice altogether. He stood still and silent, his back to the door, hands clasped behind, shoulders stiff, eyes distant. Waiting.

A light knock on that door made him spin around like a top. "Yes!"

It opened soundlessly, and Ron Butterfield entered. He wore no obvious expression, as usual � yet he stopped just inside the threshold, with a touch of drama that hardly anyone would expect from the all-business Secret Service coordinator.

"Mr. President."

He stepped aside.

And there she was.

Jed Bartlet began to smile.

She walked hesitantly, without the confidence and the quiet pride in her job that he'd always known, and she limped slightly on the left foot. She wore a man's gray knit sweater at least two sizes too big, and black track pants rather too long even for her height. Her hair was neat enough but had lost its healthy, well-cared-for shine, and her eyes were sunken and haunted as he had never seen before � not even right after Rosslyn. Plus � worst of all � bruises had begun to develop vivid colors above her right eye, below the right corner of her mouth... and around her throat.

Yet she was walking under her own power.

She was _alive!_

A small, scared part of him had still refused to risk believing... until now.

He did not move. No matter how much he wanted to charge over and hug her, that would not be a good idea just now. So he waited, content for this moment simply to bask inthe knowledge that at long last she was here, and safe.

CJ moved slowly into the room, heartbreakingly uncertain of herself, and stopped after only a few yards. She swallowed, trying not to look frightened. "Mr. President."

Never before had she _ever_ had reason to fear him. Bartlet's smile faded at the genuine pain that thought caused him.

His silence only unnerved her further. She swallowed again. This was _not_ the self-possessed Press Secretary he'd come to rely upon so much.

"Sir..." She took a deep breath and forced herself onward, taking refuge in formality. "I wish to apologize for being absent from work without your permission."

The President's smile started to grow again.

"And..." She glanced down at her casual, ill-fitting outfit. "I apologize for my inappropriate attire as a White House employee."

Bartlet chuckled at this utterly unnecessary embarrassment; it was _so_ in keeping with her character. "CJ, you look absolutely terrific to me."

The sound of amusement � and joy � in his voice helped her to relax. A little. "Well, sir, I personally feel like death warmed over." She hesitated. "However, I'm extremely grateful for Agent Butterfield's overnight bag."

Ron did not react. He had closed the door and stood unobtrusively next to it, studying the far wall and pretending not even to be present, as his job required.

The President smirked. "Good thing he's not five-foot-five huh?" He paused, seriousness settling back into place. "I asked him to bring you straight up here, CJ; I hope you don't mind."

She glanced aside for a moment, her mouth twitching in consternation. "In point of truth, sir, I honestly don't think I'm... ready to face everyone else just yet."

He nodded. She would naturally feel a bit uneasy around men at least, if any of his fears were even _remotely_ justified. Those bruises invoked a flare of sheer rage, that anyone would dare hurt her in any way at all.

He shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind for now, so as not to distress CJ any further than she already was. "I understand." Now _his_ mouth twitched, fighting another smile. "I couldn't resist pulling a little rank, though..."

CJ looked back at him � and summoned a tiny smile herself. "I should think I owe you that much, sir. You did, after all, directly save my life."

They still stood a good five yards apart, as though her traumatic experience had delved a gulf of fear between them. Bartlet didn't like it at all. He wanted to break down every barrier denying her the peace, comfort and friendship she so deserved and _needed_. He knew better than to pressure her with affection she was not yet prepared to receive... but she did seem quite a bit calmer now.

He started off casually enough. "Abbey said I shouldn't instigate the big bear hug I originally had in mind." From the expression on CJ's face at that, his wife had been right on the money. "But I'd like to ask your permission to kiss you on the forehead."

CJ blinked. What emotion those two sentences had merely hinted at, the softness of his voice conveyed undeniably. All at once, she too hated the space that divided her from her leader who so clearly cared for her.

After these past three days, smiling felt wonderful. "You know, sir, if it were anyone else who asked me that just now, I'd probably slug him."

He grinned too, in particular at her resurrected sense of humor � a very good sign indeed. "You could, of course, deny me this opportunity by simply remaining standing."

For one moment, CJ genuinely laughed. "Well, Mr. President, I confess that one thing which makes me feel more secure is the simple fact that I'm bigger than you are."

Bartlet's smile was getting broader by the second. " _Taller_ , certainly � but you're sure not in the same weight class. Anyway, I'll take my chances."

He approached, not too swiftly, watching for any signs of nervousness. She stood her ground, grinning as well, looking much more like the CJ he'd so missed. He extended both hands, palms up; she placed her hands in his. She inclined her head forward; he gently brushed his lips against her brow.

He stepped back. His blue eyes were dancing, and his quiet tone evoked a nation of happiness. "Welcome home."

She blinked again � at tears this time? Her voice sounded slightly hoarse. "I've never felt more welcome in my life." She looked down, collecting herself, then up again. "And I'm very grateful for this chance... to thank you personally. For rescuing me."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." The President took a moment to collect himself as well. "How are you?"

She sighed. "Tired, I'll admit. The hospital checked me over for more than an hour and a half before we got word from you. I was really afraid I'd have to spend the night there."

"Well, you have nothing to worry about now. I arranged for you to be released into the care of the First Lady." Bartlet was getting that mischievous look that all of his close people knew. "How many average citizens � or even presidential employees, for that matter � have ever been accorded such an honor? Abbey will be right here all the time to make _sure_ you take it easy. Besides, you're in the best-protected house in the country."

CJ inclined her head again, like a small bow of gratitude. "Thank you, sir. Although I do wonder about having my own Secret Service escort. I haven't decided if it makes me feel more important, or more vulnerable."

"Better resign yourself to it," a new voice advised from the right. Both turned as Abbey Bartlet entered through the side door. "There's no way we're letting you get away from us again!"

CJ let her own smile widen. "I'm not sure that makes me feel better."

"It should. You're under direct presidential protection." The First Lady walked forward with her arms open. This time CJ didn't flinch at all, though she did have to stoop a bit.

"Oh, it's so good to have you back..."

"Yes, ma'am, I agree with you wholeheartedly."

Blinking, Abbey eased back, and placed her hands ever so gently on either side of CJ's face. She couldn't miss seeing the bruises, but her touch was purely maternal. "You are going to be fine. You've got my personal guarantee on that."

CJ couldn't summon any words at all, her own eyes misting over.

The President watched this touching scene for a few moments, grinning all the while, then decided that his presence had become rather superfluous. "Well, ladies, if you'll excuse me..."

Abbey arched an eyebrow playfully at her husband. "Oh, sure. Time for some female talk. Go on, get out of here while you can."

"I'm gone." He smiled one more time at his restored Press Secretary. "You get some rest. Don't let her yak your ear off."

CJ returned that fond look in full measure. "Yes, sir."

Bartlet rubbed his wife's arm briefly, and whispered, "Thank you." Then he nodded to the silent sentinel by the exit. "Come on, Ron. _No_ man will be safe in here for the next while."

"Yes, sir." Deadpan as always, Ron opened the door and held it for his leader, followed behind, and shut it after.

Right there in the hall, the President stopped, closed his eyes, and heaved an enormous sigh of overriding relief. _"She's okay."_

"Yes, sir," Ron endorsed levelly, as though he himself had had no part in ensuring that fact. He waited another moment. "Would you like my full report now, sir?"

Bartlet considered it... and shook his head. He didn't want to discuss logistics now; he wanted to tell the anxious staff what they were simply dying to hear.

"Nah � tomorrow's soon enough." Then he turned and clapped his security coordinator on the shoulder. The smile of joy had given way to pure, sober gratitude. "You guys did _great_."

*****

The entire West Wing administrative staff, it seemed, had gathered � or rather, crammed � into the Communications bullpen. Each of them wanted to be present for the first official announcement, rather than get it third- or fourth-hand later. There was a constant murmur of conversation, too low to pick out individual threads... and also a pervading sense of expectation on every face, excited and impatient.

Josh perched on the corner of a central desk, one hand constantly rubbing his forehead, his features slack, still in a state of shocked disbelief. Sam hovered to one side of him, trying not to fidget in combined eagerness and anxiety; Donna lingered close by on the other. Carol, Cathy and the other more senior assistants were not far away, muttering amongst themselves. At the extreme rear, near the other doorframe, Toby loomed in unapproachable seclusion.

With no warning and no fanfare, the President arrived. All voices died. All heads turned. All who were sitting stood. Employees parted before him and then closed in behind, desperate not to miss a word. That partially-enclosed office area, almost always buzzing with urgency and purpose, became perfectly silent and still, contrary to everything that Communications represented.

"Everyone!"

Calling this meeting to order proved totally unnecessary; he already had their full attention. He stood just inside the doorway, and surveyed the crush of people on all sides... wearing the kind of slight smile that suggests a deep desire to throw off the prevalent self-control. Instantly they all grasped how much he was looking forward to making his next statement.

"CJ has arrived safely and is in the Residence right now."

Every staff member in every quarter let loose a cheer of the purest elation. Every member, that is, except a tall dark shadow at the rear. Without attracting any notice at all, the Communications Director immediately, quietly turned and slipped out.

Bartlet raised his hands, and the cheers fell off � although the grins did not. "She is pretty shaken up. She'll be spending the night upstairs; my wife is going to keep her under observation a bit longer, just to make sure. Now I know a lot of you are itching to visit..."

He aimed a suggestive eye right at Josh and Sam in the front ranks. Both quickly donned expressions of innocence, not that they fooled anyone.

"But she really could use a quiet night, so I think we should all leave her be until tomorrow. After _that_ , once she sets foot out, she's on her own." He joined in the chuckle of agreement that rippled around. "All right, you can go back to celebrating now. Thank you!"

Even before the President turned away, people were cheering again. In fact, hardly anyone observed his departure for once. The vast majority of them either high-fived or hugged their nearest neighbors, then started babbling away in unmitigated relief and delight.

Sam and Josh gripped each other by the upper arms, as though they both had to grapple with this terrific news to believe it. Sam was grinning like a fool; Josh, conversely, appeared too dazed even to crack a smile. He just looked about at the happy people who had waited with him for the confirmation of this miracle. He saw Bonnie and Ginger embrace not far off, and Cathy throw her arms around Sam like a schoolgirl. One instant later Donna � who had seen her boss through this entire ordeal � wrapped him in a huge bear hug. Shaking his head as though quite bemused, Josh returned it. Then he stepped back, and began making his way through the crush, towards the exit.

Some seconds later, Sam glanced around just in time to see him disappear.

*****

CJ sat on the edge of the huge bed, still in her Butterfield castoffs, staring rather blankly at the opposite wall and the portrait of Abraham Lincoln. Even though she'd been gone a relatively short period, the past three ultra-intense days had been the equivalent of an entire lifetime. She could hardly believe just yet that she was back in the White House. Since she'd never seen this room before, she felt no real sense of familiarity... and it was far too soon to go to her office. So she sat, alone and silent and adrift, letting the freedom sink in as slowly as it wanted.

The gentle tap on the door startled her. For two rapid heartbeats she couldn't move. But this was not Paul's cabin, and the Secret Service were right outside. Only the merest handful of people could hope to get past _them_ **�** all of whom were her friends.

She straightened, bracing herself. "Yes?" Her voice quavered just a bit.

"CJ?"

Even muffled through the door, that voice was unmistakable. Still, she couldn't prevent the most instinctive stab of terror, despite the trust she'd always had in the owner of that voice. In this new pause, the owner of that voice decided that some clarification was in order.

"It's Toby."

She knew him. She knew she had no reason to fear him. She knew he'd never hurt her. She knew he'd been worried about her. She knew he'd come here now, against direct orders no doubt, solely because he cared for her.

She took all of these things and used them to beat back the fear. Finally she found her own voice. "Come in."

He did, silently and slowly. From the sadder-than-usual look in his eyes, one might suppose that he had a very good idea indeed just how she felt right now. He allowed the door to close on its own rather than shut it himself, so as not to give the impression that he was sealing her in, and then stepped sideways � coming no closer, and not blocking the exit.

"Hi."

CJ tried to smile. She read his actions and his expressions accurately, and appreciated his thoughtfulness. She desperately wanted to cross the room and hug him, but she didn't dare. Not quite yet. "Hi."

He looked down, and then up at her, and then down again, in that way he had of trying to deal with discomfort. He was clearly wrestling with his vocabulary. "Look � I'm sorry. I know I'm not supposed to be here. You need your rest." He shuffled feet as though ready to bolt.

Now she did smile just a bit. Rarely did this man run out of things to say. The sight of his uneasiness helped her to conquer her own.

"It's all right." Then she waited, until he looked up again, before adding, "It's good to see you, Toby. I'm sorry I'm not dressed for company."

She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen _him_ smile. He didn't now � but at least he managed to hold her gaze rather than hang his head.

They remained there in silence for another few seconds before he gathered himself... and said something that totally startled her.

"You've never looked more beautiful."

CJ stared at him in disbelief, then down at her rumpled, oversized, unflattering tracksuit. Her hand moved to her right temple, then slid down past her jaw to her throat. She looked dreadful, and she _felt_ like she looked dreadful � how could he _possibly_ find her beautiful?

Toby did not glance away this time, standing on the conviction of that incredible statement. Of course, just the relief of having her back, after he'd come so close to losing her, could account for such an extreme reaction.

Before she could respond � and she didn't yet have any idea _how_ to respond � a second knock on the door interrupted. She flinched at the sudden sound; he jerked that way in both surprise and annoyance. Then he turned back, eyebrows raised in silent question.

"CJ?" That could only be Josh.

Her lips quirked; Toby's brows descended. She hesitated, gathering her strength, forced herself to stand and handle being alone with more than one man. Then she nodded. Reluctant but obliging, he reached for the doorknob.

Josh strode eagerly in the moment the door swung open � and stopped dead. "Toby, what are _you_ doing here? The President said we were to leave her alone!"

" _I_ didn't hear him say that," Toby managed not to growl. "Perhaps I left a bit too soon. But since _you_ obviously heard him � "

"Hey, you know me; I _never_ follow the rules."

He whirled away before any snide retort could be formulated. _"CJ!"_ His face split into the most joyous grin as he almost sprang towards her, arms flung open.

She stepped back. She couldn't help it. Her eyes went wide, her inhalation hissed between her teeth, and her whole being cringed from being under attack.

Josh braked frantically at this, then just as frantically backpedaled, hands up in the classic no-touch position, his features twisted by sudden horror. Never before had CJ been the slightest bit afraid of him. Never would he have dreamed of hurting her, in any fashion whatsoever. The glaring fact that right this instant she _feared_ what he might do to her cut him to the quick.

The only likely reason _why_ she might fear him...

He shot a fast look at Toby behind him, who was standing as stiff as a board, eyes screwed shut in equally eloquent anguish.

"Oh... God... CJ... I'm so sorry." He kept backing away, as though he could put physical distance between himself and the awful knowledge that he'd scared her.

CJ swallowed, fighting for composure. "Josh � "

He was breathing hard in shock, and his voice almost broke. "I never... never would do anything to... ever... please, don't be afraid..."

"Josh, it's okay." She took a stranglehold on her nerve. "I'm fine. I just � don't feel like being crowded right now."

The silence that fell between them positively reverberated with hidden meaning. Typically, Josh jumped to conclusions... and just as typically, his automatic reaction was anger. Now, too, he saw her glaring collection of bruises.

"What did that bastard _do_ to you?"

She flinched again, this time at the violence in his tone. He got the message and bit back any more words, his own worst fears crystallizing further with each second.

CJ exhaled. "I'd really rather not discuss it tonight, okay? Some other time, perhaps. It's enough that I'm here, and safe."

Slowly, visibly, Josh forced himself to calm down, to unclench his fists and his teeth. Toby looked away, eyes downcast and tormented.

There was yet another knock. All three of them yanked that way.

"CJ?"

She sighed with relief at the break in the tension, and with rueful amusement at this completion of their numbers. "Come on in, Sam."

He did, his boyish face alight. "Oh, wow, it's _great_ to see you!"

  __

Then he noticed the two men standing silently on either side of him. He looked from one to the other... and shrugged in the blithe Seaborn style. "Oh, good. At least I'm not going to get into trouble alone."

"No, we can't have _that_ ," Toby retaliated.

Sam took a step forward, still beaming, no doubt looking forward to a hug as well. Josh caught him by one arm.

"What � "

"Don't." Josh couldn't meet his eye. "Just... don't."

Sam paused, his grin slipping downward, and surveyed the room again, more carefully this time. He noted the distinct space between them and their restored friend, he evaluated his comrades' unhappy expressions where there should be nothing but delight at reunion, and he observed the detectable tautness to CJ's own stature. It also seemed peculiar how she kept her chin down and her head turned a bit to the right, partially obscuring her throat and that side of her face.

"Something doesn't feel right."

CJ flickered a grin of her own. Leave it to Sam to state the obvious. For all his legal expertise and skill in speech-writing, more often than not he completely missed the point behind whatever emotions were on the run. Frequently it could be comical, other times it was a source of great exasperation. Tonight she found it comforting in its normalcy.

"That's _my_ fault, Sam. I'm not used to entertaining people anymore. This is what happens when I play hooky from the Press Room."

The pressure dropped perceptively, as all three men shared the very same thought: if she could joke, she was still herself. Josh let out an audible sigh. Sam recovered his charming smile. Even Toby allowed his wooden countenance to ease somewhat.

"Well, let's celebrate your safe return!" Sam proclaimed merrily, rubbing his hands together. "Pizza, anyone? I'm buying. I still love to see the look on the delivery boy's face when he's admitted to the White House."

Josh couldn't prevent a grin despite his earlier pain. His buddy had a talent for lightening up the ugliest moments. Toby now projected that familiar air of strained patience that his deputy so often engendered.

CJ was wondering how she could tell them gently enough that she'd really rather hit the sack, and at the same time asking herself if it wouldn't be better for her to spend some time with her friends and colleagues first, when someone knocked.

The three men looked at each other, and then at the door... their expressions disturbingly alike.

CJ just rolled her eyes. "Wherever did I get the idea that this was a _private_ residence? Come in!"

Her friends had guessed right: there was only one person unaccounted for.

Leo entered with a greater degree of confidence than any of them � but then, he'd been upstairs far more often. Plus, he had the rank, the responsibility, and the will to exploit both.

He didn't even glance towards CJ at first, but leveled that sharp glare at her other visitors. Toby reflected it straight back, totally unrepentant; Sam and Josh both looked down guiltily.

Leo shook his head. "I knew I'd find _you_ here, Josh, but I seem to have struck the mother lode. You'd think by now the Secret Service would know better than to trust you guys!"

These five people had gathered together many times in the past for a bit of fun, but it's always hard to kick back around your boss. However, none of them felt like they'd done anything wrong. Their feelings tonight overrode even a presidential decree.

Josh and Sam slowly straightened, side by side. In the resulting quiet, they stood on their right to be here, to welcome home the missing link to their unity.

Leo turned from them to the scowling Toby, and back. It was rare indeed that any of them challenged his authority. He fast realized that this evening would qualify... and something inside of him softened. God knows they'd earned this moment.

Now, for the first time, he looked at CJ directly.

She just waited to be noticed, in her ill-fitting clothes and her cushion of space, bruises averted as best she could. She knew Leo almost as well as she knew the guys. He was never comfortable with displays of affection, like Toby preferring to hide behind a gruff exterior. It took a lot to get past either set of armor to the man within.

Apparently, extraordinarily, she'd done it � by simply not being here.

They all needed her just too badly to do without her.

Leo drew a slow breath, struggling to keep his features reserved. None of his subordinates made a move to stop him as he stepped forward.

CJ held onto her self-control with all her strength and, somehow, managed not to recoil. She had endured the President before. She could face his right-hand man now. She _would_ be able to be with her friends again.

There was something formal, almost courtly, in the way Leo came to her now, and extended his right hand, palm up. Much as Jed Bartlet had done not long ago: not in the least demanding. After only a brief hesitation, she placed her hand in his. 

His voice was solemn and quiet � almost too quiet for the others to hear. "I want you to know that there's no way we can do this without you."

He smiled slightly at the wonder in her eyes... waited until she smiled back... raised her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly... and let go, turned, marched past the other three men present, and left the room without so much as a glance at any of them.

The closing of the door this time created a remarkable silence indeed.

All four traded varying looks: amazement, confusion, relief. Of course, since their boss had left without evicting them as well, this meant that they effectively had _carte blanche_ to stay. If Leo understood how they all felt, then he could convince the President. The guys were glad to relax � and to ease the emotion with humor, as was their way.

Josh shifted first, trying not to smile. For the first time in over sixty hours, he really looked like himself. "Yeah, we missed you. A bit. You know..."

Sam wasn't having any of this downplay. "Well, _I_ missed you a _lot_ ," he asserted firmly. "And _Toby_ � "

"Is about to kill Sam in one more moment," his director rumbled ominously.

CJ felt her grin return full-force. It was so _right_ to be back with these characters.

Josh ran a hand through his hair. He still couldn't forget the fear he'd caused mere minutes ago. "Look, CJ, you probably want to rest � "

"But there's quite a party going on downstairs," Sam piped up, oblivious to either fear or weariness. "It'd be _great_ if the guest of honor could attend!"

"A party?" she repeated in no small astonishment. "For _me?_ "

"You bet. The White House hasn't seen anything like it since Mendoza's confirmation."

CJ found herself speechless, both amazed and touched that she would be that popular. She did her job; she asked no more. Embarrassment reared its ugly head next, and she was almost glad that she had an excuse not to attend.

Her excuse arrived at that moment � from the side again, rather than add to the list of knockers on the hall entrance.

"I might have known." Abbey set down the suitcase she'd been carrying with a definitive _thump_ and folded her arms, surveying the trio of unauthorized visitors darkly. _"Out."_

That was all she needed to say. These three had stood up to the White House Chief of Staff and defied the order of the President � but they could not disobey _her_.

"Yes, ma'am." Josh, technically the most senior, led the exodus with alacrity.

CJ experienced equal parts relief and regret.

"Guys � " They turned at once. "Thanks for coming. Really."

They still had to leave, but they would leave with a far better frame of mind, reveling in the knowledge that she was in fact glad to see them.

Sam spoke for them all. "Get a good night's rest, CJ. Take as much time as you need."

"Yeah," Josh endorsed. "So � tomorrow?"

His best friend shoved him the rest of the way out.

Toby shuffled a bit more, but said nothing and followed them. Then he paused on the threshold, and glanced back.

"I..." He shot a look at Abbey. "Yeah."

CJ smiled shyly at him.

*****

"Here you go." The First Lady broke open the suitcase on a settee. "I had a woman from my detail retrieve the things you asked for."

At first CJ could only stand there before this collection of familiar items, fingering one article, turning over another, as though she'd never seen them before. It was incredible how radically the whole concept of clothing had changed for her.

She shook herself, realizing that Abbey had neither moved nor spoken during these long seconds, but just waited patiently, sympathetically, kindly.

"Thanks. A lot." With an effort, CJ smiled her gratitude, then made her selection and headed for the washroom.

"Take your time." Abbey headed the other way to retrieve a second chair and place it beside the writing table. "Oh, and I ordered some light supper for us both."

"Great... I might actually be able to eat, too."

"It'll do you a world of good. I just want you to know that they should be knocking at the door any minute now." Abbey paused, evaluating carefully. "You don't have to be afraid."

The voice in the bathroom paused as well. Then, "I appreciate the warning."

"I thought you might." Abbey settled herself on the sofa to wait. Aimless conversation would not eliminate the tenacious undercurrent of uneasiness.

Silence descended... and grew...

The First Lady began to look truly concerned. "CJ? Are you all right?"

"... Yeah, I guess so." The Press Secretary emerged at last, studying intently the thick flannel pajamas she now wore, under an even thicker terrycloth robe. "I'm just... I can't get over how comfortable I am in my own clothes again."

Her hostess did not comment on that. She just waited quietly, until CJ felt at ease enough to join her, a cushion and a half apart.

Abbey began as gently as she could. "CJ, there's something I'd like to discuss."

Her guest froze for another long moment. "What's that?"

"In order to get you released from the hospital so quickly, we had to promise that your medical care would be continued here at the White House. For that to be true, the physician on site will need access to your medical records." Abbey studied her closely. "That would mean seeing the report from the hospital as well."

CJ's mouth tightened, glancing quickly at the "physician on site." Whatever physical damage she'd suffered these past few days would be in that report. At this moment, not one of her friends knew how much physical damage there was � or of what kind. Not one of them had dared to ask.

Abbey's offer was plain: to be CJ's doctor herself. This would mean total confidentiality... and total confidence as well.

Firmly, CJ nodded. "Not a problem, ma'am."

"You're sure you'll be comfortable with that?" Not too many people _would_ be comfortable discussing intimate medical details with the First Lady of the United States.

"Well, I'd certainly feel more comfortable with you than with a random doctor."

Abbey smiled.

This time she was rewarded by a return smile. 

Someone knocked softly on the door.

CJ stiffened in her seat; it had become instinctive by now. Her companion reached over, laid a gentle hand on her arm and squeezed reassuringly, projecting strength through the silent steadiness of her eyes. Then she rose and went to the door.

One of the familiar Secret Service agents stationed outside brought the kitchen trolley in himself rather than admit anyone else. "Mrs. Bartlet."

"Thank you." She stayed between him and the sofa, a genuine defender of the sofa's anxious occupant, and she did not alter that protective stance until he had retreated and closed the door behind him.

CJ closed her eyes and released the breath she'd been holding. "I really hate this."

"It's perfectly understandable. You need some time to get used to us all over again." Abbey utilized just the right amount of a teasing lilt to earn another quick grin. "Come on, let's eat. Stress always gives me an appetite."

"Thank God that doesn't apply to me, or I'd be the size of the Goodyear blimp by now."

The survival of the victim's humor is always heartening to a doctor.

Abbey waited until after they'd finished and returned to the sofa before she broached the central issue again. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep tonight?"

CJ frowned. "I honestly don't know, but I really don't want to fall back on medication if I can help it."

"Okay, I can certainly understand that. I was also wondering if you'd like me to stay with you. We can get a cot in here, no problem."

CJ's jaw dropped; she couldn't decide between gratefulness and incredulity. "Oh, _right_ � the First Lady sleeping on a _cot_ in the White House!"

Abbey laughed lightly. "Hey, there's always a chance to make history around here."

Her guest just had to laugh as well, before giving the proposal the serious consideration it deserved. "Let me think about it a bit?"

"Of course." Pause. "You're going to have to talk about this eventually. Whenever you feel like doing so, I'll be available."

Another pause. CJ's vision had become distinctly unfocused.

"Are you okay?"

She looked back at this famous woman whom she knew, and liked, and trusted implicitly. Still, that was such an enormous question that she had no idea at all where to start. Just considering what she might say, what at some point she would _have_ to say, brought her terribly close to breaking down. In real desperation she fell upon a somewhat safer topic.

"You don't know how relieved I was to hear that Danny's okay. In fact, Ron had to tell me three times before I believed even him. My... captor... vowed to cut all the ties to my past life. He left with a gun..."

Abbey's eyes widened. "He actually told you he was going to _kill_ Danny? How horrible!"

The words tumbled out now. "Yes � and there was nothing I could do! I tried � I didn't know what to do, but I tried � it was horrible. But it didn't work after all." CJ sat there and shuddered at the memories. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I was ready to die."

*****

There was something distinctly familiar about this scene: three men, close colleagues all, gathered in the office of the White House Deputy Chief of Staff. Josh had his chair tilted back as far as it could go, his feet propped up and his eyes on distant horizons. Sam occupied the guest seat nearby, pad on lap and pen in hand. Toby stood by the door, hands in pockets, expression as guarded as ever.

The difference, of course, lay in the current of emotion.

"She's home..." From Josh's tone he still couldn't quite believe it, as though he needed to hear the actual words and not be contradicted by anyone in order to trust that they were true.

"She is." Sam didn't glance up, but he didn't complain about having his literary efforts interrupted, either. In fact he was grinning with every line he wrote.

"She's home... and she's _okay_. I mean, not perfect � but _okay!_ "

"Yep. Now we can finally get some sleep."

Anyone who knew the first thing about Toby would have predicted with confidence that he'd never be able to endure more than two minutes of conversation with these two � and this one time they would have lost. He contributed nothing and kept his thoughts to himself... yet for once he seemed content to share the moment with his coworkers, if for no other reason but that it convinced him he wasn't dreaming.

"Sleep?" Josh repeated, in sudden and genuine anger. "How can you think of sleep now? Do you think CJ's going to sleep? She's only just back after three days of hell on earth!"

Sam stopped writing and met his eye. "Exactly. We _all_ need a good night. Things will look brighter in the morning."

Josh exhaled through gritted teeth. "Even if that didn't sound as corny as it does, I still wouldn't believe it. First I hear she's missing, then I hear she's _dead_ , _then_ I hear she's alive. I finally get to see her myself � and then I scare her to death! Like sleep is going to help! God, did I even _look_ at the marks on her face?! No � I just went barreling at her like a... an animal. Exactly what she _didn't_ need."

Toby turned away, wearing his anguished expression. Josh rubbed his face with the heels of both hands, every bit as tormented.

Sam stared. "I _wondered_ why she was holding her head that way... She was trying to hide it!" He sat there blinking in sudden, dumb realization. "You know, Josh, I didn't notice the bruises either � not until Leo came in. What kind of barbarian _does_ that to another person? And a person like CJ..." He had to stop, at a total loss for words. "Toby, did you notice?"

His boss refused to even glance at him. "I'm not worried about the bruises we can see."

Josh groaned. "That is _exactly_ what has been haunting what little sleep I've gotten in the last few days."

"She's back with us," Toby said quietly, his tone more soothing than almost anyone ever heard. "Nobody is hurting her anymore. We need _real_ sleep now � CJ, too. Sleep will restore your perspective."

"There's nothing wrong with my perspective!"

"Josh." Toby should have been aggravated by this stubborn attitude, but for some unknown reason he was not. He just seemed... drained. "Let CJ take it at her own pace, all right? We should all just be ourselves until _and unless_ she directs us otherwise."

"I was _trying_ to be myself!" Josh insisted loudly. "And I scared the crap out of her!"

"And she stopped you � and then it was okay." Toby shifted in place, unaccustomed to handing out advice like this. "You said it: she's been through a nightmare, and she's been back only a couple of hours. Give it time; it'll get better."

Josh groaned again and rocked perilously backwards, far too wound up to even consider sleep. Not that either of his comrades showed any interest in calling it a night yet, either. He looked again from Sam to Toby, and back: one introspective, one concentrating.

"Sam, what are you doing?" His words were an eerie echo of two nights ago in the Oval Office.

"President's statement." Sam didn't turn from his work.

"It's taken you two days to write it?"

"No, but now I can _really_ polish it. One's frame of mind makes a big difference to this sort of thing."

"Uh � guys?" said a hesitant voice from the door, with perfect timing to forestall the next argument.

Toby didn't bother to face that way. "Come on in, Carol." He waited until she entered his field of vision. "CJ is fine, and will probably be down sometime tomorrow. Just so you know."

Carol's whole face lit up. "Oh, wonderful! _Thank_ you."

Sam looked up right then, struck by a new thought. "That reminds me... someone should contact Danny."

Josh lifted his head this time.

Sam let out a half-grunt of wonder. "I can't believe none of us thought about it before now."

One by one, three heads rotated towards Toby.

He scowled straight back at them, not in the least cooperative.

" _I_ will," Carol volunteered. She had come to know Danny better during all this. Besides, how often did _any_ of them get to be the bearer of such wonderful news?

Toby nodded curtly, both expressing his gratitude and dismissing her. She got the hint and left.

"Boy, I'd love to hear _that_ conversation," Sam mused, blissfully unaware of the daggers in his boss' vision right then.

"Gentlemen?"

Josh dropped his feet off his desk and sat upright at once.

Somehow Mrs. Landingham managed to look every bit as businesslike as she always did, even at this late hour and after the joyful resolution of this appalling crisis. If there _was_ a bit more lightness to her persona, no one could be absolutely sure.

"The President has arranged rides home for all of you."

Josh's persona had been restored in full. "What, he doesn't trust us not to add to the accidents out there tonight?"

All three just stared at him, until he finally deflated. "Fine. Forget I asked."

"Actually, I could get to like being chauffeured around," Sam remarked, rising and stretching.

"Has anyone seen Mr. McGarry in the last few minutes?" the President's secretary inquired.

Toby glanced out the door, as though Leo might be standing there the whole time. "I think he already left."

She actually smiled, in quiet confidence. "He won't get far."

They didn't doubt her for a moment.

*****

When, late in the afternoon, he finally returned from his lethal mission, she was waiting. She'd spent the entire day bracing herself for action. Now the time had come.

He blew through the door like a conquering hero. "Claudia! I'm here �"

The hardback chair caught him squarely across the shoulders and drove him to the floor with no more than a startled grunt.

She shoved the door shut and sagged against it, gasping from her exertion. She'd had no sleep, very little food and two frightening encounters with this man already; she was hardly at her best. Adrenaline, however, is a very potent drug in itself. Plus, she knew she would get only one shot at this and had to make it count.

So far, her plan had worked: she couldn't bring herself to use the rifle, but the chair did just fine. Now he lay prone and motionless before her, as helpless as she had been, and she was free. Free to raise the chair again and smash it into his head, as many times as it took to erase the memory of his touch and the knowledge of Danny's blood on his hands.

No; killing him wouldn't help her, not _really_. It couldn't undo the past. Better that she just grab his car keys and flee. He'd be trapped here as effectively as she had been, forced to wait until the police came for him. Her revenge would be to see him locked away forever... the very same fate that he had planned for her.

She shook off the wave of horror, remembering what he'd done to her before and what he'd no doubt do to her next � and what he'd just done to Danny. She had dressed for combat as well as she could, considering her wardrobe options; she already wore her boots and her coat lay a few feet away. Every atom in her being wanted to run _now_ , but she needed the vehicle. This meant she had to linger a few moments longer.

Letting the chair fall away, she dropped to her knees beside him, and went rapidly through his pockets. The keys, where were the _keys_ �

Her rummaging chased away more of the cobwebs in his brain. Semiconscious, he reacted with a surge of savage anger and lashed out instinctively, blindly, violently at his unknown assailant. His fist swept up with no warning and sliced across her temple. She went sprawling backwards from the force of the blow; her head banged against hardwood �

She came to again, slowly, dizzy, nauseous and disoriented... with his hated voice in her ears.

"You're gonna be okay. I'll make it better. Claudia, _please_ be okay!"

She couldn't prevent a groan, of both pain and revulsion. She wanted to strike out in turn, but barely had the strength to open her eyes.

Her voice was faint. "No... get away from me..."

"Oh, I'm so glad you're okay! Be still for a moment while I clean you up. That's it, take it easy."

He wasn't listening to her.

She could see now, past the earthquake in her skull and the familiar fear squeezing her heart. She was stretched out on the couch, where he had obviously placed her � _so much like this morning_ � and he hovered unnervingly near.

She could feel the terrifying heat from his body... and the welcome cool of the damp cloth he held to her head, stanching the blood from her hair, driving the pain back.

She glared weakly up at him. He smiled obliviously down at her.

"You clocked me pretty good. Boy, you sure were upset over that reporter. It's okay, I understand. But now you don't have to think about him ever again. He was never good enough for you, anyway. I forgive you for your obsession with him. You're gonna forget him, and everything's gonna go back to being wonderful for us."

Grief rose like a tidal wave... followed by choking fury. She _would not_ take this anymore.

She tried to push herself up a bit, spearing him with hateful eyes. "You _monster_. Only in your deluded fantasy will _any_ thing be wonderful here. How could you _possibly_ believe that killing someone I care about would make me trust you, let alone _love_ you?"

He stared at her in total disbelief. Here he was tending her wounds, and she came out with _this?_ "What are you saying �?"

Low and intense to start, her voice rose quickly in pure rage. "Let me put it this way: there's no way in hell that I will _ever_ love you. I _loathe_ you. I never wanted you to touch me in the first place, much less _now!_ "

One hand closed tighter on her hair, the other on her forearm, but she was too incensed to notice.

"But I've got you here." For a moment he sounded like a petulant child, unable to understand why he couldn't have what he wanted. His sense of supreme power reasserted itself. "You're _mine!_ "

To prove this, he closed inexorably upon her. The hand holding the cloth let it fall and gripped the back of her head with compelling strength. She had no hope of resisting as his mouth descended on hers, _hard_ � taking brutal possession of his prize. Her blood boiled and screamed against this animalistic assault.

He broke contact at long last... and then he smiled again. It was a smile of confidence and satisfaction, tinged by more than a hint of insanity.

Panting from the air he'd virtually sucked out of her and the drumbeat of her racing heart � fueled by pain and a fury such as she had never known before in her life � she immediately scrubbed her mouth clean, a gesture of utter rejection. Her words slashed like the blade of a knife. "I was _never_ yours. _You will not possess me._ "

His confusion increased with his growing instability. "Why? Why are you _DOING_ this?"

Then the truth finally began to penetrate. She...didn't?... love him...

His volatile emotions shifted again towards full-blown anger.

She saw the backhanded slap coming and couldn't possibly dodge it. Fireworks burst across her vision and thunder bellowed against the inside of her already-abused skull. Somehow, she bit back a cry. She could hear his harsh breathing, so very close...

The star-shot grayness cleared again, bringing his ruddy, bestial features back into focus.

One part of her brain shrieked for capitulation, for anything that would calm him and avoid further punishment. Otherwise it would get far worse even than this �

  __

No! She was not going to surrender her being again. "I would rather _die_ than spend one more minute here with you!"

That did it. The fire of madness flared to fever pitch in his eyes. Whatever twisted concept of love he might have felt before, it had been transformed at last into a hatred no less than her own. He no longer wanted her in his fairy-tale utopia here; she was not worthy after all. Which meant...

  __

"Don't SAY that!" His huge hands clamped onto her throat in an attempt to stifle her words. She could get no air into her lungs _at all_.

Teeth bared in a voiceless scream, she sank all ten fingernails into the vice around her neck, digging deep with the last of her failing energy... until suddenly he couldn't ignore the stabbing pinpricks any longer and pulled back, swearing vilely.

She could breathe. For several gulping inhalations, that was all that mattered... The burning in her chest matched the burning around her throat, where his fingers had marked their hold in scarlet.

Then suddenly everything else fled before the ultimate terror of all, as she felt his fists seize her sweater in two places and wrench apart. The fabric ripped away with appalling ease, a frightful indication of his insane strength.

No � not _THIS!_

He'd have her stripped bare in mere seconds. His own clothes would come next, the violence increasing with each rent in material. By the time he got back to her �

Sheer desperation lent her one last boost. Her right hand shot out and raked him straight across the face, drawing four parallel rips from temple to cheek like the claws of a tiger and missing his left eye by less than an inch.

He let out a roar of pain, amazement and hellish wrath. That she would have the _gall_ to hurt him! Oh, yes, there would be no mercy now...

She lay there, gasping and pained, and just waited. She'd won that small victory, at least: his surging hormones were now swept away by the lust for vengeance. She watched the blood well up, watched the muscles under his shirt bulge in preparation, watched his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, exactly like a maddened bull...

With a snarl that would do justice to a lion, he drew back both ham-sized fists.

The front door slammed open, shaking the entire cabin.

  __

"Freeze!"

Both jerked around in utter astonishment � at the four strange men framed before them... and at the four automatic pistols aimed their way.

~~~

"Dear God." Abbey sagged back in her seat and let out a shaky exhalation. "If they'd arrived _one minute_ later � "

CJ looked even more drained... but she'd gotten through the telling with her own emotions more or less intact. "Then it would have been simply a matter of picking up the pieces."

She rubbed a hand across her brow, brushing at the shadows that lingered on the edges of her vision. "I honestly don't know which of us was more surprised � I'd given up all hope of rescue by that point. Anyway, they managed to charge over and apprehend Paul without firing a shot. Good thing, too: I'm sure gunfire would have completely freaked me out on top of everything else. Then Ron sent them all to the far corner so that I could have some space. I needed it; the relief at having them there lasted only so long." She shivered.

"Fortunately, I had one other prime distraction. No way did I want anyone to call the White House but me. I couldn't bear the thought of the news being announced over the radio as impersonally as though I was a lost dog. I still thought that Danny was dead... and I knew I'd never believe that all of you were safe until I heard it myself."

Abbey couldn't prevent a smile. "Now that was a switch: you calling us to make sure _we_ were all right!"

"And I fully expected to have to argue for what I saw as my right. Ron surprised me when he agreed at once." CJ shook her head in wonder. "I gotta admit, I never expected a Service agent � and a man � to have that level of understanding for a female victim's needs. I always thought they followed procedure rigidly at the expense of all else. Ron was just wonderful. He made no attempt to rush me out of there. He didn't launch into twenty questions. He kept everyone else well away. The moment I wished for a change of clothes, just so that I wouldn't have to wear those torn prison rags any longer, he offered his own duffel bag. He drove me to the hospital himself, he never left me alone with anyone I didn't know, and he flew me straight back here." She paused, striving to assimilate too much information. "Whatever he saw in me at the time must've been pretty shocking, if it softened him _that_ much."

The First Lady fiddled thoughtfully with her necklace. "Well, he had the responsibility of bringing you back in one piece, after all... And every agent must be able to read other people on the spot and take the best course of action around them."

"Good point. I'll vouch for the thoroughness of their training any day."

CJ closed her eyes. "And then... then he told me that Danny was alive." Her low voice reverberated with a relief beyond words.

Abbey hesitated to intrude on those moments of sweet reflection.

"Do you love Danny?"

CJ's eyes popped open in no small surprise. Talk about an abrupt change in topic, never mind such a _personal_ topic. In fact she was too startled at first even to form a reply.

"I'm not talking about how inappropriate a relationship _might_ be." Abbey's tone was not the least bit judgmental; she didn't have _that_ subject in mind. "You admitted that you were willing to go to an extreme to save him...?"

Slowly, CJ nodded. "I admit that I tried to seduce Paul in a deliberate effort to prevent him from leaving the cabin with a loaded gun and a vengeful mind." She fought down a chill. "And even though it didn't work, I made the decision then with no second thoughts."

"And did you make that decision... because of love?" Abbey persisted, with incredible gentleness.

CJ expressed only confusion. "It's... really not applicable. I would've done that for any of my friends." Again she struggled not to shake in her seat. "It was the only bargaining chip I had. I couldn't let that madman hurt _any_ of you without giving everything I had to stop him."

This time Abbey did not comment, letting the deeper question linger by virtue of its sheer import... and at last CJ faced it squarely.

"I do not know. I'm not sure if it's real love or just a deep friendship. All I know is, I couldn't bear to see him hurt because of me."

Silence.

"And I truly don't know how I can ever trust anyone again."

Abbey sat up in sudden, renewed concern. "CJ..."

"I don't! I suppose it's a natural enough reaction to assault, and perhaps it'll go away over time... but I feel like fear is a constant cloud around me now. I've learned how a man can really hurt a woman. Sure, Ron was such a help, so considerate, a familiar face when I desperately needed one. And your husband was so kind � quite aside from the fact that without his influence I'd _never_ have been found. But the others... they're my closest colleagues and my _friends_ , and I could hardly endure being around them..."

CJ's control almost shattered. She wrestled it savagely back into place.

"Then too, how can any of you trust _me_ again either?"

Now it was Abbey who experienced sudden disbelief. "CJ � !"

CJ turned away. "Don't sugarcoat it, please. First of all, I was the direct cause of a very real danger to every one of you. This includes my supposed hostage status as a weapon against the President. Second..." She had to pause and brace herself. "I was willing to sell myself to that lunatic at one point. I proved flat-out that everyone has a price." She looked at the floor, her pale, bruised features flushed with shame. "I don't know how any of you can even _look_ at me!"

One second passed... two... each passing moment further confirming the worst to her...

The First Lady's hand closed firmly on hers. "CJ, you did the most selfless thing a person can imagine. You were willing to sacrifice yourself for one of us. You valued our lives more than your comfort, your self-worth and even your own survival. How can we _not_ look at you, and admire the strength and courage within?"

Abbey squeezed her hand a bit tighter. "I am just so glad that you _didn't_ have to go through with it. And that you're finally home again, safe with us. That's what really counts."

CJ was blinking rapidly by now.

More silence, wrapped with friendship.

"Abbey..."

Dr. Abigail Bartlet went still in her seat, touched to her core. Like Leo and his best friend of over forty years who was now his President, CJ had not dared to use the first name of the First Lady ever since her husband's election, no matter how close they'd been before. This ultimately personal moment wiped away all social barriers in the need for absolute trust and candor.

"What happened while I was gone?"

The deceptively simple question had several layers of meaning, and they all couldn't be addressed with ease. Still moved, Abbey opted for succinct brevity. "This House very nearly collapsed around our ears."

CJ had to suppress a smile. "Be serious."

Abbey's solemn attitude did not waver. "I am."

In these two words she conveyed a huge amount of information about the chaos that had ensued when their Press Secretary went missing. CJ's lips parted in a stark combination of amazement and � not quite pride, but something vaguely similar. She'd been slighted and ignored enough times by her colleagues since this administration began; now, at last, she had proof of her genuine value. The awakening had been rude, but effective.

Abbey gave her time to digest that news flash, then swung away from it. She knew that any further comment would only add to the embarrassment. Besides, without doubt all the details would come out and be gleefully rehashed tomorrow. "Now I'd like to ask you a personal favor. If I may."

CJ looked honestly surprised that her friend felt obliged to ask such permission � especially at this stage. "Of course. Name it."

Abbey gathered her thoughts... and, it seemed, her nerve as well. "Whenever you may feel up to it... next week, next month..." She hesitated some more, strangely off-balance as the public and even the staff never saw her. "I wonder if you'd be willing to speak to Zoey."

CJ's eyes went wide; she got the point at once.

This time it was the First Lady who shivered, her gaze and her volume dropping together. "I mean, God forbid that she should ever face _any_ kind of assault as well. But..." Abbey screwed up her resolve and confronted the harsh reality. "I'd prefer to have her prepared, just in case � rather than attempt to shield her from the horrid possibility."

This time it was the Press Secretary who reached out with a comforting hand.

"I will."

All four hands joined in a firm pledge. "Thank you."

CJ summoned a smile; it seemed to be coming more easily to her. "No, thank _you_."

Abbey smiled in turn. "You're looking better. I think you'll sleep now."

"I hope so. Thanks for listening." CJ's vision turned inward. "I know that I understand myself a lot better than I thought I did three days ago."

That sounded intriguing. "How so?"

She shrugged. "Oh... fury, desperation, hatred... just how far I'm willing to go when my life is on the line..."

Abbey nodded gravely. "I think the same applies to us. There are some interesting stories waiting for you tomorrow." Pause. "And may I say, I'm really impressed with how you handled yourself throughout this. You found a real core of iron within yourself."

" _Sure_ � for the _next_ time I have to fight to the death."

Even the slightest chance of _that_ happening gave them both pause.

"Still, better to have the armor and not need it..." Abbey pointed out in a very quiet and sympathetic tone.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right." CJ ran a hand through her hair, not caring any more how disheveled she looked. "I... just wish I hadn't developed this armor the hard way."

No platitudes could help here. Both women accepted the cold truth that _someone_ has to learn that knowledge, before it could be passed on to others.

"While we're on the subject of regret... I still don't know how, but I do feel at least _some_ for Paul himself. The man's completely unbalanced. How much can you blame him, really? He fell in love with an image on TV. He did everything he could to capture that love. And for that, he's going to be locked up in a padded cell."

She heaved a sigh. "He put me through hell, and I know I'll never be able to forget it. But in the end he was standing there, handcuffed and helpless, crying like a child about his crushed love and the beautiful life we could have had together... if only I'd been more � faithful."

She lifted empty hands, as though pleading for guidance through the maze of her own being. "After all he did to me, I still feel sorry for him. _Why?"_

Abbey smiled, gently and with visible satisfaction. "Because you have a courageous heart, and a compassionate soul. You're not going to let hatred poison the rest of your life. You saved yourself, CJ. _That_ is your own triumph."

CJ thought about that one for some time... and slowly but surely, the old light of confidence returned in almost full strength to her tired eyes.

"Yeah."

  __

"Yeah." The First Lady agreed wholeheartedly. "And now you really should turn in." She grinned. "Doctor's orders."

CJ grinned back. "Okay, okay."

But then, in the very act of rising, she stopped. "Wait � one more thing."

"What's that?"

One could tell how vital this question was by the length of time it took to come out. "Why were all of you so convinced that I was _dead?_ I thought I'd just... disappeared."

Abbey froze, all humor gone in an instant.

CJ didn't miss that reaction. Her head angled for a better view. "The agents refused to tell me anything. I wasn't about to pressure _them_ for explanations... but I can see now that there was _something_."

Her hostess' forehead kinked. For a long moment she did not respond, _could_ not respond. Then, "Why don't we leave that for tomorrow."

"It's not going to help my sleep to wonder about it all night," CJ pointed out firmly. _"What happened?"_

One second ticked past, and another.

Slowly, regretfully, Abbey exhaled. She had no real choice but to accept this painful duty herself. "They found your car this afternoon. It looked like it had skidded off the road and gone through the ice into a lake. Your ID, your phone, your pager... were all inside."

Silence.

CJ's brows descended. "I wouldn't think that's enough in itself..." Her voice trailed off, as the first tiny inkling poked above the surface of her subconscious.

Abbey closed her eyes... and then reopened them. Refusing to look away, to deny any part of the truth � no matter how awful.

"A woman's body was behind the wheel."

She needed say no more. The implications could not be denied. They cannoned mercilessly through CJ's brain, piercing her with undiluted horror.

*****

"The kidnapper's name is Paul Thatcher. He was less than coherent around us, as one might expect. He'll never stand trial � no jury would convict him. However, between what we've managed to glean from his ramblings, and what Ms. Cregg told us from her point of view, I can lay out the events for you with fair accuracy, sir."

The President leaned forward in his chair, blue eyes fixed on the Secret Service agent seated across from him. "Let's have it, Ron. The best, the worst, and everything in between."

"Yes, sir." These guys never used notes in such an official setting. Ron began at once.

"The announcement that Ms. Cregg's car had been found in Clinton County was, of course, broadcast to all local forces. The teams sweeping Pennsylvania at once converged upon that region. They also had a small aircraft up, and as it headed towards the lake where we were, it crossed a second small lake about twelve miles away. And right there on top of a rocky hill over the lake was a huge SOS in the snow, with a spot of pink in the very middle."

Seated quietly to one side, the only other person present for this Oval Office briefing, Leo frowned at that revelation. One could see the question forming on his face. _Pink?_

"The pilot radioed in at once, and we had no trouble sparing a helicopter to investigate. Even if it had nothing to do with our search, _someone_ was signaling for help. But a chopper couldn't approach the hilltop without disturbing the snow, so it landed in another meadow a good mile away, and its crew climbed on foot."

Ron simply had to give this moment the import it deserved. "That spot of pink was a plastic garden flamingo."

Bartlet sat up straight as understanding dawned � then he looked at Leo, who wore a nearly-identical expression.

"A _flamingo?_ " the President repeated.

"Yes, sir."

Leo just had to chuckle. "Leave it to CJ to come up with a brilliant touch like that!"

"Yes, _sir_. Of course, the moment that detail reached us I tore over myself. Even if Ms. Cregg was dead as we believed, we hoped this would lead us to her killer." The security coordinator allowed himself only the barest pause, but it was enough to make both of his listeners wince.

"It took us some time to find the trail through the snow down to the cabin. I cleared the sky in case the sight of planes and choppers might flush our target prematurely, so we didn't even know where the road _was_ at first. Thatcher pulled in only about fifteen minutes before us; we heard his car engine through the trees. No doubt he was returning from Washington after his attack on Danny Concannon. We surveyed the cabin, discovered that Ms. Cregg was inside and alive, and � took the place."

The narrative stopped... and yet, the brevity of that last sentence left a whole lot unsaid.

"Ron..." Bartlet pressed, knowing there was more to it than this.

Butterfield hesitated in a most unusual way for one of his elite force. When he resumed, his voice was likewise unusually quiet. "Well, Mr. President, let's just say that it was extremely fortunate for Ms. Cregg that we arrived when we did."

Leo actually went pale at the blatant meaning behind _that_. His leader leaned back and exhaled slowly, of the very same mind.

"Anyway, we secured Thatcher, drove Ms. Cregg to the nearest hospital as per SOP, and then choppered her back to Washington as soon as your message came through with her medical release."

"Hold on a minute," Bartlet interposed. Clearly this account had wrapped up a bit too neatly for his liking. "The first indication I got of any _possibility_ that CJ might still be alive was when Leo burst in here with the news that she'd called us herself." These two old friends shared a solemn look, remembering that electric moment in all its vividness. It was the closest the President had ever come to calling his Chief of Staff and best friend either a liar or crazy. "As soon as you heard about that flamingo, you knew who'd left the signal. Why the hell didn't you call me yourself right then?"

Ron formed his reply methodically, but he did not shrink from the demand. "For the same reason, sir, that I did not call you immediately after the conclusion of the hostage crisis on Tuesday; I waited until I was _certain_ she'd never been there, so that I could give you as much information as possible in one shot. As the head of the interstate search effort's chain of command, I assumed the responsibility for investigating that signal first before reporting it." He noted the dark, unconvinced stare leveled his way. "And quite frankly, sir, I didn't want to get your hopes up."

The President calmed at that genuine thoughtfulness, not something one associated regularly with the fearsome United States Secret Service. "I see your point. Although it _would've_ prevented a few heart attacks around here."

"On the other hand," Leo pointed out soberly, "if they had delayed _at all_ , they might've been too late."

Bartlet closed his eyes, not wanting to acknowledge the hard truth of that frightfully-narrow margin between success and... 

"In any event, sir, Ms. Cregg was very grateful for her release from the hospital."

"I wish I'd seen the face of the nurse who got _that_ call," Leo said in amusement, darting a glance at his boss.

His boss grinned back. "It's fun throwing my weight around like that. They never would've let her out otherwise." Then the smile faded. "In her state, staying the night there would've been a nightmare all its own."

"Yes, sir." Ron had seen the Press Secretary at her most vulnerable, and he fully agreed with that observation.

Bartlet sighed. "So, all that's covered. What about her car? Who was the woman inside?"

"Her name was Anita Bellevue, Mr. President. She's from the town of Lock Haven in the same county. From what Thatcher told us, he planned this decoy all along. He wanted us to think that Ms. Cregg had had a tragic accident, to forestall any search for her. He'd picked out Mrs. Bellevue weeks ago as a realistic replacement. Her physical resemblance is really quite close, especially under less-than-ideal circumstances."

Leo looked away, his features grim, remembering how close he'd come to viewing that physical resemblance in the local morgue. It didn't get less ideal than that.

"Around noon on Wednesday, Thatcher left the cabin for a supply run. He tracked Mrs. Bellevue down, approached her circumspectly, drugged her with the same substance he'd used to abduct Ms. Cregg the day before, and brought her to the lake several miles from where his cabin was located. He towed Ms. Cregg's car to that same spot behind his sport-utility vehicle.

"The local highway runs right beside the shore of this lake, making it possible to create the illusion that the car had skidded off the road and plunged down the embankment. This wouldn't have worked with a boat-launching ramp or some private driveway, and in any case Thatcher _wanted_ the car found.

"So he strapped Mrs. Bellevue's unconscious body into the driver's seat, and smashed the windshield in with a thick tree-branch to make it look like it had just happened to fall on the passing car, thus throwing it out of control." This time Ron hesitated in his dry recital of the raw facts. "Then he took a large fragment of broken glass and slashed Mrs. Bellevue's face, to further reduce the differences in identity."

The President made no effort to stifle his heartsick groan. Leo put a hand over his eyes.

The senior agent forged onward. "Then he started the engine and sent the car rolling down the bank. It broke through the thin ice and sank to the rear wheels, flooding the cabin, yet fully visible to the next car that should come along... and from the air. Ms. Cregg's ID and personal possessions were inside, and the occupant � a tall woman in her late thirties with auburn hair � died of drowning. No one would have any reason to doubt the ownership of the body, and the freezing conditions obscured how long she'd actually been dead. It was well thought-out and well executed."

" _Executed_ is exactly the right word!" Bartlet exploded. "Quite aside from the fact that God only knows what he would've done to CJ if you guys hadn't gotten there in time, he also committed a cold-blooded murder just to throw us off the track! That poor woman � "

"Mr. President," Ron interrupted gently but firmly. "You should know that Thatcher is not even capable of remorse for what he's done to either of them. He honestly believes that he was protecting Ms. Cregg from the world in general and you in particular. Whatever it took to keep her safe, he was prepared to do. Mrs. Bellevue was a simple tool, nothing more."

"That doesn't make me feel better. So we'll pitch him into the loony bin instead of a maximum-security prison, or a gas chamber... but we still can't bring her back."

"No, sir." The ranking agent kept his attitude very business-like, covering any hint of a sense of failure. If only they'd found the White House Press Secretary sooner...

"Man, good thing you didn't bring Thatcher around here, Ron. I can guess at more than a few people who'd want to take justice into their own hands." Bartlet's eyes glittered coldly.

"Amen," Leo concurred with deceptive softness.

"Yes, sir." Two simple and oft-repeated words, but right now they communicated the exact same sentiment. Even as the Secret Service had added another success to its formidable record, its reputation in certain circles for emotionless reserve was being diminished. CJ's disappearance had wreaked havoc to a surprisingly broad extent.

The President raised an eyebrow, not missing that inflection. But he chose not to indulge in one of his trademark wisecracks for once.

"I want to contact Mrs. Bellevue's family. It's the least I can do."

Ron nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll get the number for you."

"Leo, you give the staff the bare bones. Play it down a bit, okay? If I know CJ, she won't thank any of us for showering her with sympathy."

Leo nodded as well. "Yes, sir. I'll make sure Carol does the same in the next briefing. No one else needs to know _all_ the gory details."

"Right." At last Bartlet stood. So did the other two men. "Ron, you make sure your people know what a fine job they did. That goes for all of the other organizations involved, too."

"Thank you, sir." That might have been a telltale twitch to Ron's mustache, but he managed not to grin despite his justifiable pride.

Now the President gave himself a little shake, as though shrugging off all the worry and chaos of the past week. "All right. Time to start running this place again."

Ron took that for the dismissal it was. "Yes, sir."

"I'll go, too," Leo offered. "Today is going to get very interesting."

"Of that I have no doubt. _Especially_ this afternoon."

Bartlet watched them leave in opposite directions.

"Charlie!"

His body man stepped promptly into view. "Yes, Mr. President?"

"I've been looking forward to saying this with the proper enthusiasm for four days." The leader of the free world smiled broadly. Looking very pleased, and very much in control. "What's next?"

*****

"Mom, will you relax? There's no reason to get this panicky on me. It's just dinner at the White House!"

CJ leaned back against the handsome headboard of her enormous bed and plumped her fat pillows for greater comfort. There was nothing _not_ comfortable about this magnificent room. 

"Okay, so I'm a bit jaded in that respect. Sue me. Dinner here _is_ a big thing. But it's the only time the President has free. Things got a bit backed up over the past few days."

She wriggled a bit deeper into the mattress, savoring its plush softness, while she balanced the phone precariously under her chin.

" _Mother..._ He's not superhuman. Nor is he a despot. It'll be pretty informal, anyway. Just don't get him started on trivia and we'll all survive."

She glanced at the brilliant sunbeams streaming through the tall windows, then at the clock on the end table, and grinned. "Let me tell you: I'm in the most luxurious bedroom I've ever seen, in the safest house you can imagine, and I'm still in my pajamas at nine in the morning. Trust me � I'm fine."

She ran a hand through her tousled hair and down her neck, then smiled into the phone. "All right, then. You should be getting in shortly after noon tomorrow, right? Come here right away, so we'll have time to visit before supper."

Someone knocked softly. She jerked in that direction, eyes wide.

"Mom, I've got to go." She fought to keep the apprehension out of her voice. "Believe me � I have to go _right now_." Pause. "Okay. Bye." She hung up, then took a deep breath. "Come in."

"CJ?"

She blinked in surprise. "Zoey!"

The President's youngest daughter entered a few steps, no more. She looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Hi."

"Hi." CJ noticed this uneasiness: it was even more pronounced than her own. That knowledge brought out the big-sisterly affection she'd long felt for this growing teenager, chasing away all less pleasant emotions. She smiled. "Good to see you."

Zoey smiled back, if somewhat timidly. "You, too." She couldn't seem to stop fidgeting, or staring. The bruises were even more visible today."Um... I wanted to come by last night � but my mom said that it'd be better if we didn't... smother you."

Slowly, CJ nodded. "She was right. I was kind of... frayed." She read fresh anxiety on her visitor's face and added, "But it's amazing what a good night's sleep will do."

Zoey smiled again � in relief. "I'm glad." She threw a look back at the door through which she'd entered. "I've, uh, got your breakfast here."

"You do?" CJ shook her head. "Well, if that's your gentle way of telling me I should finally get out of bed..." She threw off the covers.

Zoey had to giggle at that. "I'll bring it in." She hurried out and returned in moments pushing a tea trolley. By then CJ had donned her robe and slippers.

"You know, I may be the first person in history to be waited on by the entire First Family," she commented as she took her seat at the table. "A girl could get used to this."

For some reason Zoey did not react to the humor this time. She set everything out and then backed up one step.

"I hope you like it. How do you feel? Are you hurt? Can I get you anything?" The questions came out in a fast and flustered stream. Clearly she was confused as to what she should say. Then, even more flustered, she forced herself to stop.

For a few seconds, CJ studied her.

"Zoey." She kept her voice low and calm. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry." The girl fidgeted even more, blushing with embarrassment. "It's just � I'm dying to know what happened. No one's told me anything." She looked down. "But... I don't want to upset you."

CJ knew that Abbey would not have raised the dreaded topic with Zoey so soon. This was the First Daughter's own initiative.

  __

That made CJ feel even more responsible.

She reached over and gripped her young friend's hand. "No problem, Zoey. I'm not up to discussing it _just_ yet... but don't worry. I promise that one day soon, you and I will sit down and talk."

*****

The President of the United States strode down the hallway of the Residence in the White House. Beside him paced his Press Secretary. It was as it should be.

"Are you _sure_ you want to do this now?"

"Yes, sir." CJ's voice had much of the old firmness again. "As beautiful as my accommodations are, my office will feel even better. Honestly, I could use the distraction. Besides, almost everyone will have gone home by now."

"Oh, I think I can name a _few_ people who are still lying in wait."

"So can I." She didn't quite smile, but both amusement and resignation were present in her tone.

Ahead of them, the black suit of a Secret Service agent led the way, and both knew that another followed not far behind. CJ couldn't resist _one_ glance over her shoulder at that silent shadow.

"You didn't have to come all the way up here and play escort yourself, Mr. President."

Bartlet eyed her askance... being careful not to crowd her as they walked. She still needed a bit of buffer space.

"You know, I'm rather tempted right now to make some crack about me not having to do _anything_ I don't want to do � but you and I both know it isn't true." He waited until he got the grin he wanted. "The truth is, after a day like today, I'm more than happy to seize any excuse to slip out of that office, even for a few minutes. I should thank you for this bit of freedom."

Just ahead, the leading agent held open the elevator.

She looked down. "Well, I should apologize for the total upheaval to your schedule over the past few � "

The President braked, his sudden stop pulling her to a halt as well. "CJ, if you try one more time to take all the credit for what we have put _ourselves_ through..."

"Sorry." She couldn't resist the urge to step backwards, away from him.

Her leader flinched at this... and his expression grew very gentle. Her bruises seemed to cry out at him. "No, _I'm_ sorry. _Please_ don't worry about it."

She let out a slightly longer breath, relaxing in more ways than one. "Yes, sir."

"Excellent."

He turned and led the way into the elevator. The point man stood at the controls, as far to one side as possible. Normal etiquette would dictate that even the President defer to a lady, but he did not want CJ to feel like she was being herded into an enclosed area and trapped between two men � even men she knew. Instead he stepped to the agent's side, leaving almost half of the car for her and staying between her and the slightest possible sense of threat.

She followed with only a touch of hesitation... and did _not_ move to the farthest corner.

The trailing bodyguard let them go without him. They had all been briefed: _three_ men in tight quarters would definitely be too much. As the doors slid shut, he could be seen muttering into his suit cuff, informing the ground floor detachment that Liberty _and_ Flamingo were on their way down.

CJ struggled to ease her increasing tension. "I feel like the Secret Service are here for me almost as much as for _you_ , sir."

"They are," was Bartlet's calm reply. "I want you to feel comfortable, CJ. I don't care what it takes. So long as you're here under my roof, there will always be someone close by to see to your every need, and to protect you at all costs."

"I expect the guys will want to do that as well," she pointed out knowingly.

The President rolled his eyes. "Actually, I expect you'll need protecting from _them_ the most."

He heard her chuckle, and his grin widened.

The elevator stopped and the doors parted. Bartlet held back, allowing CJ to exit first. Then he led her towards the South Portico entrance. A new agent discreetly fell into step behind them.

Another agent waited at the door with two thick overcoats.

The President took one of those coats and held it open for her. "We're going directly to the Oval Office. This way you bypass _everyone_."

For one jarring heartbeat, the scene froze. In order to be helped on with that coat, CJ would have to turn her back and allow both arms to be encumbered for at least a few moments...

Not one of the men moved, fully aware of her thoughts. Bartlet's pensive expression said plainly that he would understand if she didn't feel ready for this yet.

CJ's lips pressed into a thin, determined line. "Thank you, sir." Her words contained a dual meaning. Deliberately, she steeled herself and accepted his assistance. Very carefully, he helped her slip the garment into place, and stepped back at once to give her a bit more room.

Looking almost victorious after that small yet vital accomplishment, she buttoned herself up as the waiting agent helped the President on with _his_ coat. Then this four-person parade stepped out into the chilly December afternoon.

Of all the staff, only Charlie and Leo ever got the chance to walk this route. CJ tried not to glance around in obvious fascination.

"CJ, I want to be sure that _you're_ sure you're willing to return to your job." Bartlet sounded very serious indeed. "It means re-entering the public spotlight, as well as a whole lot of now- _personal_ media attention."

She gathered her nerve. "I know what I'm in for, sir."

"I sure hope so." He didn't meet her eye. "I can't help feeling like it's very much my fault that you're so... visible."

The pillars of the presidential walkway gleamed like soft gold as the spotlights of the White House fought off encroaching nightfall.

"The visibility comes with the territory. I've always accepted that."

"Well, none of us ever dreamed that it might include such a _risk!_ " His steps slowed as his thought accelerated on. "God knows I don't want to lose you, CJ � but I don't want to put you at that risk _ever again_."

This time it was she who stopped in her tracks. Even a world leader felt compelled to turn and face her.

She stared down at him from her superior height. "Then let me put your fears to rest, Mr. President. I have no intention whatsoever of bailing on you, now or ever. _No one_ could have foreseen such a risk as a lovesick lunatic. You've kept that particular detail from the press, for which I thank you, so I'm not letting myself worry about a copycat getting the same idea. Also, just so you know, I have discovered in this process that I could be the direct cause of an attack against _you_. But the same would apply to _whoever_ holds the position of White House Press Secretary. So it might as well be me, since I know precisely what I'm getting into � and so that I can ease my own fears by taking steps to ensure that it doesn't happen again."

She paused to recover her breath... and suddenly realized that she had just delivered a very strident lecture to her boss and her Chief Executive both.

Now that she had finished, Bartlet allowed his smile to poke through. It was a smile of pure delight. After a few seconds, CJ found herself smiling back, in genuine pride.

"If I had a dime for everyone who wanted to threaten me... Forget about it, CJ. The only important thing is that you're back."

She was, too � back to _herself_. That fact amazed her more than a little.

The President enjoyed her look of wonder for a couple of moments, then inclined his head towards the door right behind him. "Come on. Let's get out of the cold."

"Yes, _sir_." Almost glowing with this new sense of triumph, CJ followed him into the Oval Office.

Charlie was waiting; he rose as they walked in. "Hey, CJ." He grinned in quiet welcome, apparently forgetting all about the man beside her.

"Hello, Charlie." She didn't miss the hint and couldn't prevent her own smile from spreading. Nor did she have any problem letting him take her coat. His age might have had something to do with it, but the mischievous gleam in his dark eyes did the rest.

"Good man," Bartlet teased, shrugging out of his own coat unassisted. "You've got your priorities in order. Now go away."

"Yes, sir." Charlie made no attempt to hide his slight smirk.

"Oh, and send Agent Reilly in, would you?"

"Right away, sir." His personal aide took both coats and exited.

Both of them watched him leave, then looked at each other, their expressions identical.

"He's going to tell everyone you're here," the President predicted confidently.

CJ sighed, but her smile didn't fade much. "Of that I have no doubt."

"If you change your mind and want to run, consider this office your refuge." A joke it was � and yet a sincere offer as well.

"Thank you, sir. Hopefully I won't have to come and hide under your desk."

The door through which Charlie had vanished now reopened, and a woman slightly younger and slightly shorter than CJ walked in.

"Mr. President." She nodded to her leader with military deference... and then addressed CJ in almost exactly the same fashion. "Ms. Cregg."

"CJ, this is Colleen Reilly. She's on temporary transfer from Abbey's detail." Bartlet said no more, watching for his Press Secretary's reaction.

CJ realized at once just what he meant. Her jaw dropped. "You mean, transferred to _my_ detail? You're telling me _I_ now have a detail?"

"For as long as you like, and even after that."

CJ was trying not to stare. Colleen's functional pantsuit blended into the White House dress code perfectly; she could have been just one more of the hundreds of female employees around every day. Not a bulge or wrinkle betrayed the firearm that had to be present.

Colleen shrugged casually in an effort to break the ice. "It was felt that you'd be more comfortable with a woman around."

CJ just shook her head � not in refusal, but in bewilderment. "I'm not sure I believe this either way..."

Her personal bodyguard smiled, more gently than would ever be expected of a professional killer. "Just go about your business and pretend I'm not here."

CJ frowned. "That sounds rather rude."

"Ask the expert," Bartlet offered, raising his hand with a grin. "Lessons are free." He paused. "But seriously, CJ � anything you want, you have only to ask. _Any_ of us."

For another few seconds CJ just stood there, reveling in the high value these people all placed in her.

"Mr. President, I want you to know that I really appreciate all you've done for me."

Standing with one hand on the surface of his desk, he returned that gratitude in full measure. "I should say the very same thing a whole lot more often than I do."

*****

The short passageway linking these two premier offices in the land had a door at each end, for double privacy. Of course, as a rule the only person who came looking for the Chief of Staff through this route was the President himself.

Acutely conscious of that fact, CJ tried not to feel like a usurper or a trespasser as she pushed the second door open.

"Hartley, I'm telling you. He's not going to go for � "

Hinges in this House were not permitted to squeak. However, Leo was _very_ sensitive to any movement from that direction. His head turned at once.

The moment had to be savored at least a little. CJ struggled to act nonchalant, as though she strolled in like this every day.

From the emotion that now crossed his face, he wouldn't trade _this_ day for anything.

"Listen, I'll have to call you back." He still held the phone receiver in place, but his eyes never left her... and they were shining. "Well, since I'm right next door to the Oval Office, you can probably guess who just walked in."

Nonchalance went right out the window. CJ almost burst out laughing right there.

A faint but detectable undercurrent of amusement tinged Leo's words. "I will." He hung up, then rose in the formal welcome of a gentleman to a lady. However, there was nothing formal about the small yet warm grin that played around his mouth.

Still, he did not approach, keeping his desk between them as a safety barrier.

"Congressman Grovesnor extends his regards."

"To the President, you mean." CJ grinned back at him. "I'm not sure you have the authority to promote me _that_ high, Leo."

"Hey, I can't help it if he guessed wrong."

Pause. He studied her. She watched him.

"How are you feeling today?"

CJ glanced down at her attire, as though to remind herself that she was wearing her own clothes again... as though she needed _constant_ reminding of that. She had chosen a blouse, slacks and jacket combo such as she usually favored, stylish but professional � plus, she was back in these familiar chambers where she did the work she so loved to do.

"More normal all the time, thanks."

"Glad to hear it." Leo made the attempt to sound more like his usual reserved self. He moved sideways, to the end of his desk, so that they no longer looked like a boss and his subordinate... although he continued to keep his distance.

"You realize that the moment you set foot outside this office, you're gonna be mobbed � no matter how much we've told them not to."

She nodded patiently. "Might as well get it over with."

"If at any time you feel that you need sanctuary..."

CJ automatically brushed her hair behind her ear, a common mannerism for her. However, on this day it served to reveal the ugly welts both behind her right eye and around the corner of her jaw. Leo's gaze dropped a couple of inches to the accompanying bruises on her throat. Her hand drifted that way self-consciously.

Neither of them commented on that moment. She did her best to shake it off.

"Yeah, I don't think I'm up to the full contact sport just yet."

Leo grinned anew. "Don't wear yourself out." He advanced now, but swerved a few extra degrees to port in order to miss her by a comfortable margin, and headed for the main entrance to his office. It seemed perfectly natural for CJ to fall into step. Just like before.

His voice dropped conspiratorially as they neared the threshold. "If you could give Margaret a hug or something... she was really worried about you." Then he turned back, leaving her to continue alone. Giving her arm the merest touch on the way past.

CJ just had to stop and look at her boss. Sure, he made a point of telling her that his secretary had been upset... but of course he wouldn't admit to feeling the same.

She smiled even more broadly, soaking up the affection and � yes, the _love_ � that her colleagues didn't have to voice... and stepped into the outside world.

*****

"That's a stupid idea!"

"It is _not_ a stupid idea."

"It's the stupidest idea I've ever heard!"

"I booked this guy because he's the best masseuse in DC. He comes very highly recommended; Mallory says that a lot of teachers have gone to him when they're stressed."

"Sam, she's not stressed from _grading papers!_ She's lucky to be _alive!_ " Josh shook his head at his friend's inability to grasp that simple fact. "This is better. I've booked dinner for the bunch of us at the Hay-Adams Hotel. She should be treated like royalty."

"Right after the two of you are treated for a shared psychosis," Toby interposed, frowning at them both. "We're not going to do _either_ of these things. What she needs is peace and quiet. I'm sure she wants nothing better � "

"Than to sit and read the newspaper."

All three whirled to stare, dumbstruck, at the object of their conversation. She stood in the doorway of Communications four yards off, smiling a bit, looking so much like her old self that it robbed even this famously articulate trio of speech.

Josh gave a wonderful impression of a kid caught with the cookie jar. "Yeah," he said softly. "I guess _that's_ what she wants."

He and Sam stood facing each other, Toby between them and a few feet back. They all held very still. How scared was she now? How scared of _them?_

Slowly, deliberately, CJ closed that gap until she could lay a gentle hand on the shoulders of both Sam and Josh. She looked at all three of them in turn. Here they were, in their bumbling, masculine, lovable way planning a big welcome for her. It was just as well that she'd headed it off at the pass... yet she was touched by their good intentions.

"You guys are so sweet. But I really would rather just get some work done. Honest."

None of them grinned yet. They couldn't help but see the bruises. However, a lot of the tension drained away � from Josh in particular.

"Sorry. We've just been a little excited all day."

"And we've had a lot of coffee," Sam added quickly.

Toby half-closed his eyes in resignation. "Nothing that a baseball bat wouldn't fix."

CJ smiled. Now she truly felt at home again.

"Thanks," she said very quietly. She waited another few seconds, drinking in this togetherness that she had so missed... and then at last she moved away, leaving behind two broad grins and one prayer.

The entire office area was otherwise glaringly vacant... save for one desk.

Carol rose, slowly and officiously and fighting to keep her huge smile at least partly in check. "The _Acting_ White House Press Secretary begs leave to tender her office."

CJ couldn't help it this time; she laughed. _Everyone_ smiled, as though they hadn't in a far longer time than four days. That happy sound seemed to ripple through the entire office and chase away the last clouds of lingering concern.

"Well, I have no doubt that the office was in good hands."

Carol rolled her eyes. "All this time and I never really understood how hard your job is. I don't _ever_ want it again."

CJ hesitated. Naturally her job had gone on without her � it _had_ to. No one was truly irreplaceable. That knowledge brought both a twinge of sadness, and a wave of relief.

Carol had tackled an extremely hard job and done it well. CJ reached out and touched her arm, in a very non-threatening way, trying to express both thanks and congratulations... then suddenly she reconsidered and drew her assistant into a light hug.

The three men watching resisted the urge to let out a maudlin "Awww..."

Carol blinked rapidly, and fell back on business before her composure broke down further. "I call-forwarded your phone to mine. Leo said not to reroute your calls back for at least one more day."

CJ nodded in resignation. "Yeah, I expected something like that. But believe me, the best possible medicine is just to be alone in my office and back at work."

"Sure thing. Anyway, now I have to go report to the girls � they're waiting in the mess, and I am under _strict_ orders to bring them a full report on you."

"You do that. And then I think you deserve the rest of the night off."

"Gosh, _thanks_." Things really sounded normal now. Carol flashed a radiant grin before slipping out.

CJ continued... to the dark office just ahead.

The place looked right. The air smelled right. The atmosphere _felt_ right. She stood there on the threshold, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let the euphoric sensation wash over her. She had returned to the one place in the world where she wanted most to be.

Then she looked at her desk.

Consigned to the top of the filing cabinet in recent weeks to make room for the sheer amount of paperwork, Gail's fishbowl had been returned to its place of honor beside the desk's blotter. The goldfish swam about as placidly as ever... and a small yet bright banner had been draped across the bowl's outer surface: _Welcome Home_.

*****

The sight could not have looked more natural: her bangs falling forward as she bent over her desk in concentration, pen moving rapidly, thoughts taking shape.

At one point she paused, propped her forehead up with her left hand, and sighed. "This sounds like I'm accepting an Oscar."

"CJ?"

She started, her battered nerves still taking instantaneous control.

Toby stood back from the entrance, as though afraid to even suggest that he wanted to trap her in a small room with no other exit.

"May I come in?" he asked, very quietly.

CJ was back in her office, where she undeniably belonged, proving that the _physical_ nightmare at least had ended.

Toby was her friend.

Agent Colleen Reilly sat just outside.

She straightened, raking her fingers through her hair in a symbolic gesture of placing her life back in order. "Sure."

He entered slowly, as if walking on eggshells, careful not to make any sudden moves. Still, some of the sadness she had seen in him the previous evening had faded. In fact, he looked more natural now as well, especially with the thick pack of files under one arm.

"What are you doing?" From his tone, he was genuinely interested. This would not be a brief business conversation with only the merest nod to courtesy, as so often happened on normal days.

The slight distance between them, the shield of her desk, the underlying concern in his words and her own growing sense of comfort all came together. CJ relaxed a bit more.

"Well, I'm going to have to face the press at some point. I thought I might as well be prepared." She shook her head at the paper before her. "I don't know how you stand it. I never thought writing just a few lines of gratitude could be so daunting."

That might have been the merest precursor to a smile, but Toby erased it at once. "I solve the problem by not writinggratitude."

She smiled. He did not, nor did he say anything else.

"Thanks."

He performed that characteristic foot shuffle. "For what?"

"For not offering to write it for me."

Clearly he'd never considered such a thing. "It's much too personal."

"Is it ever." CJ looked back down... and then back up. "I'm sorry. You wanted to talk to me?"

Toby fingered his stack of paperwork. "I would like your opinion on a few things," he said in that slow, reserved manner he used when his course of action had been well planned.

The thick bundle looked like more than "a few things."

"You know, I'm not sure whether I should be flattered that so many details demand my attention, or annoyed that you guys can get so little done without my help."

He tried not to look embarrassed. "Probably both. May I?" He glanced towards the sofa.

CJ measured the distance with her eye, judging how much closer that move would bring him � and then quickly shook it off. She was really getting sick of this caution, but at least she was beginning to be able to control it.

"Of course."

Still maneuvering carefully, Toby settled into the farthest corner of the sofa. He took a few moments to spread out his stuff and find his pen. CJ felt compelled to watch every single move he made, nervousness warring with reassurance.

"Uh... I'll need a moment to remember where I left off." He didn't look up.

"Oh. Okay. Say when." She wasn't sure she wanted to turn away, to take her attention from a man's presence, to let down her guard for even a moment... but this was Toby, after all. With an effort, she returned to her own writing endeavor.

Several minutes later, she stopped in growing frustration at the way her words persisted in sounding trite or downright silly � and realized that her visitor still had not broached a topic. In fact he hadn't made a sound at all. Yet from the redistribution of the piles on the sofa, he'd gone through a good chunk of that original stack already.

She frowned. "Was there something specific you had in mind?"

He still didn't look up. "Well, there is this report... but I'm not quite done with it yet. Give me a few more minutes."

CJ sat there and studied him. She could tell that he was deliberately avoiding her eyes... and suddenly she knew why. He had not come to consult her, but to keep her company. He had intended from the start to work away unobtrusively in her office, get her re-accustomed to his presence, and provide his own brand of personal defense.

"Toby, you're too much."

His pen slowed at the new, unexpected brightness in her voice, but otherwise he still didn't move. "What did I do wrong this time?"

"Do you have such a poor opinion of the United States Secret Service that you feel it's necessary to protect me yourself?"

Now he stopped... and slowly his eyes swiveled her way. She'd caught him, and he had no idea how she'd react.

She was smiling.

Josh arrived right then, with absolutely the best possible timing � from _one_ person's perspective, at least. "CJ." He too checked at the entrance, clearly uncertain as to just where that delicate line had been drawn.

CJ's smile widened: from the reddening of Toby's ears she knew exactly what he was thinking right now. "Come on in, Josh."

The Deputy Chief of Staff complied at once, doing his best to act normal. That is to say, he was his usual goofy self. "So, how do you like your new twenty-four hour protection?" He shot a glance back at the female yet unmistakable agent seated only a few feet from CJ's door.

CJ looked at Toby, whose presence Josh hadn't yet noticed. Her shoulders shook in suppressed laughter. "If he'd get me some coffee, I'd like him even better."

In dignified silence, the Communications Director rose, as though he'd planned to do so all along, paid no attention to Josh at all, and stepped out.

Josh watched him go in voiceless disbelief.

CJ watched Josh. He wore that familiar flustered expression which indicated he wasn't sure just how to start the conversation.

He turned back. She still sat behind her desk. He stayed several feet off.

"Well, I wanted to say this when no one else was around anyway." He paused. "CJ, I really, _really_ apologize. For last night."

At first she had no idea what he meant. "For what?"

He looked down. "For the � thing. When I scared you."

Now she remembered that moment when she had cowered from his joyous approach. Obviously it had haunted him ever since.

He spoke barely above a whisper, still focused on the carpet. "God, I felt like a complete ogre."

She was horribly uncomfortable with this entire topic. However, they'd both have to face it eventually. "Actually, Josh, I feel like I should apologize to _you_. It was just a gut reaction. You didn't do anything wrong."

Now he looked at her again.

She gave him a soft smile.

He hesitated, trying to decide what to say next, then drew a deep breath.

"And one other thing... I have no idea if it's appropriate... or kind... to say this to you, but it's been eating me alive and I don't know that anyone else can stand to hear it from me anymore. I was worried about you, but I was worried about... specific things."

He had to pause now � and then it all burst out in a rapid stream. "Not that I enjoyed it or even that I was _trying_ to think those things. In fact I was trying everything to _keep_ from thinking those things. But every waking moment I couldn't get those thoughts � and worse � _images_ out of my mind. Even when I was able to catch a few minutes' sleep here and there, I _dreamt_ of those things..."

"Josh," CJ interrupted gently. He halted in the middle of his arm-waving frenzy. She had to ask him this. "What exactly are you referring to?"

For one long, painful moment, he couldn't meet her eyes again. "I was... I kept being scared of all the things that man could be doing to you. And I couldn't make myself stop."

A range of emotions flitted across CJ's face, from horror to disgust, at her own memories.

He didn't notice because he still wasn't looking at her. Now she could see the sheer agony this had caused her friend as well as herself.

She groped for words, uncertain how to comfort him.

"Josh, I don't know what to say to make you feel better."

Another long pause stretched out, while he shut his eyes tightly against the visions that were _still_ tormenting him.

"Would it help if we talked about it? I mean, I don't think I can do it right now, because I wouldn't have any... composure while doing so..."

Now, slowly, he turned back to her, teeth clenched.

"But if it would help put your mind at ease, at least I can narrow down the range of what you're worried about by simply... eliminating some of those images."

It is a proven fact that people with someone else to care for handle their own troubles better. CJ found to her considerable surprise that the thought of discussing this with Josh did not unnerve her as much as she had feared. He needed to hear about it as much as she needed to talk about it.

He looked utterly torn. On the one hand, he didn't want to really _know_ what had happened to her � but he _had_ to know, because the uncertainty of it all was tearing him apart. He was a man who thrived on information; once he had the truth, he'd know how to proceed from there.

She sat back and re-evaluated. "On second thought, maybe we _shouldn't_ wait to have this conversation after all. I expect that composure is a commodity that neither of us will be able to afford for awhile. And we need to start... moving on... as soon as possible."

Josh's face cleared a bit. "Uh... yeah. Yeah, I think so, too..."

CJ exhaled; her nerves were all tensed up again. "Okay. Maybe even tonight? You can walk me back to the Residence..."

He thought about that. Slowly, a hint of a smile peeked out. "Okay."

That would still be a few hours away; she wanted to bring down the final barriers between them _now_. Feeling calmer than she had for some time, she rose, came around her desk slowly, and put her hand on his arm.

"Josh, you have _no idea_ how thrilled I am to see you, too."

He stared at her hand, and then at her. They really were friends again. No � _still_.

CJ saw that amazement dawn on his expressive features, and it wiped away the last of her fear. She stepped even closer and put her arms around him. After only the barest hesitation, he carefully returned the gentle pressure.

It was some time before she felt like drawing back. No doubt he didn't want to let go either, but he did at once. They stood like that, beaming at each other in shared joy.

Two hugs in one evening. She was definitely making progress.

In another example of fortuitous governmental timing, Toby returned. He was not alone � Sam crowded right on his heels, almost banging into him when he unexpectedly stopped in the doorway.

They were arguing, as usual.

"It's not important, Sam. She doesn't need this right now. Go away."

"I want her opinion."

"I'm your boss. You've got _my_ opinion."

"I don't _like_ your opinion."

"Want _my_ opinion?" Josh offered brightly.

Sam noticed him for the first time. "Sure."

"Okay. About what?"

His pal sighed. "Never mind."

Toby caught CJ's eye, silently asking permission to enter. She nodded at once, in what she discovered to her delight was fast becoming a mere ceremony.

Oblivious to all this, Sam followed without any pause or discomfort whatsoever. "How's it going, CJ?"

"It's... going."

In that same silence, Toby handed her a steaming mug. The other two men both registered some surprise at this privileged treatment by the least likely staff member to play butler to _anyone_.

"Thanks, Toby."

So _that_ was why he'd put himself out. Any of them would have done the same, just to earn a smile of such gratitude from their beloved Press Secretary.

"Sorry for the delay," he muttered, embarrassed both by his colleagues' interest and by his compulsion to apologize at all. "I almost had to go next door � couldn't find a fresh pot around here anywhere."

"Yeah, you could've heard him yelling for fresh coffee all the way down in the basement," Sam mentioned in his helpful way.

"Sam..."

He had learned long ago how to shrug off supervisor criticism. "Anything _I_ can do for you, CJ? Anything at all?"

She pondered. "I don't think so right now, Sam, thanks."

"I could write something," he persisted eagerly. "Maybe draft a memo?"

"Well..." CJ scrambled for a way to be polite about this. She glanced at the troublesome yet personal paper on top of her desk, crowning a stack of several others. "I haven't really had a chance to look at the briefing notes yet..."

He was determined not to be left out. He desperately wanted an excuse to hang around her without it _looking_ like he wanted to hang around her. "Well, I could draft a précis of the last four days."

Three faces looked at him strangely.

"Or something like that. Anything would be fine."

Still no one commented. Sam added lamely, "I'm a writer. I write things."

"I think I need to install a bat dispenser in all of the offices," Toby said dourly. CJ raised a hand to her mouth to hide her fresh grin.

A knock on the doorframe made everyone turn.

"Excuse me?" Donna poked her head in, all business.

Josh groaned as his memory kicked in. "Oh, right. I forgot I had an actual _reason_ for coming here." He held out his hand, and his assistant silently handed him a paper. He then passed it straight to CJ. "This is one of the more important things that happened while you were gone."

CJ accepted the page and reached for her glasses. "What's it about?"

That brought out the patented Lyman smirk. "I honestly have no idea."

Sam and Donna grinned in unison. Toby looked away resignedly.

Her glasses not quite in place, CJ paused. Then she surveyed everyone else present. "Were you guys able to get _any_ work out of Josh in the last four days?"

"No," Donna replied at once, forcefully.

Josh opened his mouth to counter �

"Much like right now, with everyone in here."

Now _that_ was a subtle hint. The three men looked at Donna, at CJ, and at each other.

"I've got some phone calls to make." Josh headed out.

Sam trailed after him. "I have some writing to do."

Toby gathered up his papers from the sofa and left without a word... although he did cast one more glance over his shoulder at CJ on the way out.

Donna watched them all go, clearly not planning to depart herself just yet.

CJ placed the memo and her glasses on her desk, then turned to her latest visitor. "And how are _you_ holding up?"

Donna smiled � but it was a wobbly effort at best. "Not bad."

"You should be paid more for how well you take care of Josh."

Donna looked away � from the bruises, from the memories, from the specter of what might have happened. Her tears were still very near the surface. " _All_ of us were starting to lose it..."

"Which the men, of course, will categorically deny. They want to appear to be in control all the time. Exactly how _much_ of an ass did Josh make of himself?"

CJ's light tone helped Donna quell the latest influx of unpleasant feelings and reassert her regular personality.

"Actually, I can _show_ you better than I can tell you."

At CJ's disbelieving look, Donna gave a sage nod. "Come with me."

Discreetly, Colleen on Flamingo detail rose and tagged along.

These two staffers would afterwards refer to this as the Tour of Disaster. Donna didn't just restrict herself to Josh's behavior; he was, after all, one of a cast of dozens.

She went first to Carol's desk, even more adrift with papers than CJ's own. "This is what happens when you take a holiday without warning us first. I wasn't even sure Carol was going to last � you just wouldn't _believe_ how much she sweats on camera."

They passed the wall that Sam had pounded that first day. Donna pointed to it, doing a fair impersonation of Vanna White. "Looks like an ordinary wall, right? But behold, this wall holds more than just political secrets. This wall has recently been the receptacle of Sam Seaborn's righteous indignation, as evidenced by the slight dent that just _might_ be in the shape of a fist."

CJ raised a skeptical eyebrow � whether at Sam's uncharacteristic actions or Donna's extraordinary narrative was uncertain.

Then they arrived in Josh's vacant office.

CJ stood there with her mouth open. It looked like a war zone � the misshapen trashcan had been righted, but the battered coat rack had not. Several scraps of paper still littered the floor, and the sizable chip out of the blackboard could not possibly be missed.

"You mean to tell me that the Secret Service allowed him to _stay_ after all this?"

"It's, uh, not Josh's handiwork alone."

CJ's eyes got even bigger.

"Oh, yes. Toby helped." Donna grinned. "Now I know what you're going to say: surely such a loving and compassionate person like Toby would _never_ actually hurl a helpless coat rack _at_ anything, but it's true. It's true."

"What on earth could Josh have possibly done to merit such wild behavior from Toby?" CJ demanded in total disbelief.

"Well, don't we all want to throw coat racks at Josh now and then?"

Slowly, trapped between incredulity and hilarity, CJ nodded.

"Although there _were_ other motivations behind that particular outburst..." Donna added in her mysterious way.

That riveted CJ's attention anew. "Meaning � ?"

Deliberately, Donna ignored her. "And on your left you will see Exhibit A of Josh's temper, as displayed in front of Yours Truly. The offending trashcan was beaten mercilessly and then almost deprived of its very job, until Josh's guilt persuaded him to try to force it back into service, resulting in severe damage to some expensive leather loafers."

For several seconds, CJ found herself bereft of speech. She had to swallow twice past the lump in her throat. When words did come, they were very soft. " _This_ is how upset they were over me...?"

Donna did not reply. Her silence was confirmation enough.

They turned together, and made their gradual way back through the silent, subdued halls to CJ's office.

Looking ahead, Donna saw something that triggered another memory. "Oh, by the way, just so you know. While you were gone, the entire line of succession was rearranged."

CJ directed a frown at her companion. "What � "

"But don't worry. Once you're sworn in, I get to be your Vice President." Donna flashed one of her trademark smiles and peeled off in another direction.

CJ stared after her, then shook her head, totally confused.

Margaret was waiting at her office door.

"What are you still doing here at this hour?" CJ wondered aloud. "Oh � wait. Forget I asked."

Margaret nodded somewhat wearily. "I don't mind. Here." She handed over a flat, gift-wrapped box.

CJ accepted it somewhat gingerly. "I'm afraid to ask." She checked the card, her brows shot up, and she checked it again. "Mrs. Landingham?"

"No guesses as to what's inside." Margaret grinned.

CJ grinned as well. The box had a very satisfying rattle. "Chocolate chip or macadamia?"

"You could always open them right now and find out."

"No, I'll wait a bit. Keep them fresh." CJ led the way into her office and placed the box carefully on her desk.

Margaret noticed the fishbowl and chuckled a bit. Then her face settled into a parody of official importance. "Leo asked me to stop by and check on you. Later, when he asks you _if_ I came to check on you, would you please tell him that I _did_ check on you all twenty times that he's asked me to in the last two hours?" She paused for one heartbeat, her expression shifting subtly. "So, are you okay?"

CJ allowed a chuckle of her own. "Tell him I'd be a lot better if his secretary didn't keep coming to check on me."

They shared a tolerant smile.

This time, though, the fun faded completely from Margaret's features. "Leo said the arrangements you wanted can be taken care of... but he doesn't think you should go."

In the sudden quiet, CJ drew herself up. "That woman was murdered because she just happened to bear a resemblance to me. I am indirectly responsible for her death. I am going to pay my respects to her family."

Then she looked away, as she imagined what a shock her eerie resemblance to the victim could produce in others.

At last she sighed. "Well, he may have a point. It might be harder on her family to have me there. Tell Leo I'll give it more thought."

"I will," Margaret promised softly. She reached out and gave CJ's arm a squeeze. "Good night."

"You, too. And thanks."

The silence that settled after Margaret's retreating footsteps had died was deep and rather unnatural. CJ glanced at her � _her_ � Secret Service agent, the only other person around, who, when not following her, was pretending to ignore her.

CJ felt unthreatened by this isolation... yet lonely. It didn't feel right for the White House. Even on those endless nights when she'd had to work late, there had been more activity than this. Everyone was giving her the space she needed.

"A bit too much space, I think," she murmured aloud. "I guess it's a good sign that I think so already."

She wandered over to her desk. Gail drifted around, unbothered, the banner a bright point of cheer. CJ thought about her friends' eagerness to help, and their willingness not to pressure her. She thought about what they'd all gone through while she was missing.

"CJ?"

She whirled. "Danny!"

He stood in the doorway, just six feet away. His face was pasty. His right arm rested in a white sling. His left held a bouquet of flowers.

His entire posture kept shifting, from overjoyed to apprehensive, back and forth. Clearly he'd been told at least something about her experiences and their aftermath.

Her emotions swirled every bit as much. He was alive and � reasonably � well, after she'd been so sure he would be dead. She'd wanted so much to see that for herself, to _know_ he was alive... But they were alone right now, and in a very real sense he represented more of a threat than anyone else she'd seen since her return.

The silence increased painfully. CJ had to break it before Danny's visibly growing anguish broke her heart.

"Aren't the people in the hospitals supposed to _receive_ the flowers?"

He grinned at once, in huge relief. "Well, you've been there, too. So I'm a little late."

She grappled with her nerve, and walked forward. The rose and carnation mix perfumed the air as she accepted them. "Thanks."

"My pleasure."

They stood there, just within arm's reach, for another couple of heartbeats.

"How are you?" he suddenly asked.

"How's your arm?" she asked at exactly the same time. Then they chuckled together, trying their best to ignore the strain.

"I'll be okay." Danny glanced down at his sling. "You realize you're going to have to talk very slowly at the next few briefings; I'm not too good at writing with my left."

"Who knows � it might even improve your copy," CJ teased automatically.

"I won't take that personally."

His smile spread at their natural exchange, as though everything was just fine again. However, it only made her more uneasy. He'd been interested in her for ages... and at this point the slightest hint of romance invoked terror.

Plus, the hideous memory of what she had been prepared to do to protect him �

Then too, he'd come so close to _dying_ because of her...

"CJ?" he prodded.

Right now her every instinct screamed to shrink away. There was just too much to be said, and not enough courage to say it. She could feel his gaze on her bruised temple, on her swollen jaw, on her abused throat. All three areas seemed to ache all the more, as though his eyes contained a physical touch.

Somehow she held herself together.

"I will be okay, too." She had to pause. "Someday."

His face fell with an almost audible thud. Now he saw her increasing agitation, her _fear_. Fear of _him_. After all the flirting and put-downs, the professional masks, the concerns for conflicts of interest, the recent sniping and the past tentative kisses... she was _afraid_ of him.

She saw the look of pure devastation that crashed into his pale features. She didn't want to cause him pain. She'd done that once already, by her rejection of a relationship between a White House Press Secretary and a White House reporter. She'd caused them _both_ pain. She didn't want to do it again.

She didn't know if anything had changed between them. She _did_ know that she couldn't bear to find out either way tonight.

"Danny, I � "

"It's okay," he whispered, moving back a step before she had to do that herself. "I should probably leave you alone for now."

There it was: the pain. And the horror of what he imagined she'd gone through... and under all of that, the affection that _one_ of them at least believed went beyond just friendship. He wanted more than anything in the world to stay with her, to help her heal... but he respected her � loved her � enough to know that, between her assault and their rocky history, she needed space from him most of all.

CJ clenched her teeth against her own maelstrom of emotions. Here, now, she could see how completely different Paul was. Even leaving aside his mental instability, he saw nothing wrong at all with taking what he wanted. Placing _her_ needs and wishes above his own had simply never entered into his consideration. By contrast, Danny was prepared to walk away from her despite his own wishes, because he wanted what was best for her... even more than what might be best for _them_.

"I'd just like to say one thing." He inhaled carefully. "I thought a lot about you while you were gone. No matter what happens, you will always be very special to me."

CJ clutched the flowers a bit closer.

"And while I'll never qualify for the Secret Service... I was glad to take the bullet. Because it kept that lunatic away from you for as long as it took him to shoot me."

CJ blinked, but the tears fell freely anyway.

He gave her a slight smile. "I'm so glad you're back safely."

Then he turned away, before she could react, and walked out the door.

She stood there, in the silent, half-lit office, hugging the flowers, staring after him.

"CJ?"

She snapped back into herself and rotated quickly towards her desk before Josh could see her tears. "Yeah?"

"Hey." He paused awkwardly on the threshold. "That was Danny?"

"Yeah."

Josh shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked on his feet, and finally got up the gumption to ask, "How's he doing?"

"Good." She still held the bouquet. "He brought me flowers."

"Oh. That was nice." Josh could hardly have sounded more noncommittal than that. He had a pretty good idea how sensitive this issue could be.

She really didn't feel capable of talking about it. "Josh, are you free to walk me upstairs now? I think I'm ready to call it a day."

He showed more energy at once. "Sure thing."

"Okay." CJ put down the flowers, as though to divorce herself from what they represented, then changed her mind. "Better take these along. I don't have a vase here."

She paused at the light switch, and glanced back... at the goldfish that Danny had given her over a year ago.

"Hold the fort, Gail."

Josh stepped back, giving her all the room she might want. They strolled through the quiet halls of the West Wing, Colleen Reilly following in silence.

As soon as they were out of sight, Sam stuck his head out into the open. He checked to make sure the coast was clear, then � doing a very bad imitation of a _Mission: Impossible_ spy � he darted into CJ's unlit office, stole all the work off the top of her desk, and darted straight back to his own. There he sat down and started poring over it, prepared to labor all night if that was what it took for him to summarize whatever would require CJ's attention in the coming days.

*****

Hours later, Leo entered the silent Communications area. CJ's office was dark, but he looked in anyway. There, on her blotter, beside the fishbowl, was neatly stacked a thick pile of her work... with Sam's tidy notes placed on top.

The Chief of Staff frowned at this, then doubled back to another office down the hall, where the light from within still glowed. A warm smile spread across his face at what he saw: Sam slumped over his desk, sound asleep, pen still in hand, his own work under his head.

*****

Upstairs in the Residence of the White House, Ron Butterfield marched down wide corridors and past magnificent works of art with his usual purposeful stride. As always, he seemed to be in a constant state of vigilance.

He rounded one more corner � and stopped. Outside the door to the Lincoln Room were two other sentries, each in their own chairs: one a very much awake Colleen... the other, a very much asleep Toby. His head was propped up by one hand, and his mouth hung open slightly.

Ron did not smile, but Colleen saw one eyebrow rise, and she _did_ smile as she glanced back at her slumbering fellow watchdog. CJ was certainly safe now.

*****

Very quietly, Abbey Bartlet eased open the side door from the next room over and peered in on her patient. She had heard voices talking earlier and naturally did not interrupt them, but things had been silent for some time now.

On the bed, wrapped in the thick blankets and propped up comfortably for conversation, but head back and eyes closed, CJ looked more peaceful than anyone had seen her since her return � including Abbey herself. On the sofa, Josh had conked out rather ungracefully. He'd have quite a kink in his neck by morning.

The First Lady gave a smile and a nod of deep satisfaction, and withdrew just as quietly.

Her husband waited until she had closed the door. "Well?"

She aimed that smile at him. "Oh, I don't think we'll have to worry about CJ's emotional recovery any more."

"Thank God."

"Amen. The whole mood around here has improved rather dramatically."

"For good reason, I'd say." The President slipped his arm around his wife. "The extended First Family is complete again, and we are back in business."

~*~*~*~*~


End file.
